The Maiden and The Immortal
by Magdalenara
Summary: She'd left her home, she'd left Jacob behind; she set off to explore the mysteries of the world and the darkness inside herself - and Cillian led her on and on, into the Unknown. Who will she be at the end of this journey: a maiden or an Immortal? (Sequel to the story of Jacob and Renesmee in "The Maiden and The Wolf"!)
1. Chapter 1

The following story is a sequel to my fanfiction called "The Maiden and The Wolf", which dealt with the pairing of Jacob/Renesmee. In that said fiction, Renesmee had encountered a Vampire called Cillian with which she had left for roughly three months before she returned to Jacob, visibly changed.

This story here, called "The Maiden and The Immortal", shall tell what happened to Renesmee when she had been away with Cillian the Vampire.

Note: For those of you who haven't read "The Maiden and The Wolf" I'd highly recommand to do so. There will be quite some references, in the first chapters in particular, I think, which will be not quite easy to understand when you haven't read the other story before.

Of course, you are also welcomed to read this story without having taken a look at its 'prequel'; it's up to you. If you, however, choose to read "The Maiden and The Wolf" first, then just go to my Profile, all of my stories, and also "The Maiden and The Wolf", are listed there. So, quite easy to find.

So, now enoy the story!

**Please, please be very nice and leave me comments and/or reviews. It'd mean the world to me!**

* * *

**The Maiden and The Immortal**

**1. Into the Unknown**

_This is bad, this is really, really bad; that was one bloody bad idea._

For what felt like the millionth time, Renesmee Carlie Cullen, half-Vampire hybrid, tried to shut up her bad conscience which had tormented her for almost all day. Several hours had passed since she had left Jacob behind in order to follow the Vampire Cillian, yet the pain of leaving Jacob was still as unbearable as it had been when she had left his house this afternoon. She remembered full well the familiar feeling of this strange change in the air which always told her that one of the Quileute was phasing back into his wolf form; and she hadn't had to turn around to see the big wolf with the russet fur disappearing between the trees of the thick forest. The sad, desperate howl of Jacob's wolf-self had echoed through the woods and had haunted her even as they had already left Forks and the Reservation behind.

She would have never believed that leaving Jacob would be so painful. She had never left him before, not like this anyway; when her family had chosen to move on and leave Forks she had decided to remain with Jacob. Perhaps she had already unconsciously known, all those years ago, what it would feel like to leave him and thus she hadn't moved with the rest of her family. But how could she have known? When she had chosen to follow Cillian, she had, of course, expected to miss Jacob, he was, after all, the closest thing to a brother she'd ever had; yet this here felt different. The pain that rampaged through her heart, destroying it like a slowly dying flower, felt different; it didn't feel like leaving someone behind, it felt like she had left something of _herself_ behind, a part of her own soul she hadn't been aware of and only now, that this part was taken from her, did she notice its existence.

She had tried not to think about it too much, fearing that it would only make the pain worse, yet she couldn't keep her thoughts from wandering back to Jacob's face, distorted in the pain she had caused him, again and again. As a result, her impertinent conscience had gone on and on to reprimand her for her selfish act to leave him like this. But what else could she have done? Staying wouldn't have done her any good; what had happened in the woods, what Jacob had shouted on that clearing, what his words had implied, it had destroyed something between them.

For him, all Vampires were monsters, soulless, blood-sucking, terrorising monsters, each and everyone of them, he wasn't making any differences. She knew it, she had seen in it his eyes; she had known all along how he had thought about her father, about her family, and most of all how he had thought of her mother's decision to leave life behind in order to join this coven. She had been told this story so often; it had disgusted him, he hated it, hated what they were and what they had forced him to be, chained to a life as a werewolf. Yes, hatred and repulsion was all Jacob Black had ever been able to feel for Vampires – and why should she, for any reason, be an exception to his opinion?

She was, of course, not a real Vampire, however, no matter how human she appeared, there was still a part of her that was not, in any possible way, human. She was a half-Vampire and the way Jacob thought about all Vampires might also apply to her; she just hadn't had the courage to stay and face the truth of this theory. She hadn't wanted to look into his eyes and to see all this hatred and disgust reflected in those deep, brown orbs; blimey, she had barely been able to look into his eyes when she had said good-bye, always afraid to see it flashing through his gaze.

In this situation, the arrival of Cillian was almost like a mysterious sign of fate; and hadn't it been the Vampire in the first place who had initiated this whole mess, since without him she would have never been forced to face the one thing she had been afraid of most. Jacob, _her_ Jacob, who was looking at her with all the hatred and repulsion he always felt for everyone of her kind. Until this day she had always feared this moment to come yet she would have never believed it to be real; she had known Jacob all her life and never had he so much as reprimanded her for her non-human needs and desires, however, with the arrival of the Vampire she had been forced to see that Jacob, after all, had never really overcome his hatred for her kind.

Of course, he hadn't titled her as the monster she was, but his words had unmistakably implied this bitter truth; all Vampires, at least for him, were monsters and since she was half a Vampire this other part in her made her a monster, too, in his eyes. With this knowledge in the back of her head, she hadn't been able to remain with Jacob, it would've stood between them like an invisible but very solid wall. She wouldn't have been able to even look at him any more without remembering his words, knowing that this other part in her made her a veritable monster in his eyes. Anger and hatred would soon have destroyed their once so deep connection; the way he thought about that part in her and in return the way she reacted to his way of thinking.

Of course, she could have stayed, trying to change his mind, trying to explain herself to him; but what would have been the use in that? She could have screamed at him that he was idiot for the way he thought, what did he know of her and of the being she was? He knew nothing. He wouldn't have been able to even try to understand how it felt to be captured between two eternally fighting souls; her Vampire side lusting for a freedom that could only be satisfied by the taste of the reddest gold, and her human side punishing her for her false desires.

What would he know of the pain of being torn apart between what you wanted and what was right; what would he ever know of her inner struggle to be good and yet knowing that she would never be good? He knew nothing of it, and he wouldn't have understood it. Leaving had been the only option for her and despite the pain it brought her to leave him she was not yet ready to regret it, she wouldn't regret it, there was nothing to regret – or was there?

"Are you thinking about the Dog-Boy again?"

Renesmee was torn out of her thoughts when she heard Cillian's words; until now he hadn't spoken at all for the whole day, he had merely led the way through more and more woods, always walking several metres in front of her, always remaining in silence, leaving her generously to her thoughts. Because of that, she was the more surprised to suddenly hear his dark, angelic voice speak such harsh words; she wasn't going to believe to have heard something like jelousy hidden under the raw tone of his question, at least not quite yet.

"_Jacob_. His name is Jacob.", the words left her mouth with a quite reprimanding sound, she had merely acted on impulse here, barely aware of what she said. She always hated it when someone – and usually this someone had been her own father; perhaps that was just one of this Vampire-Werewolf-natural-enemies-thing – called Jacob a _dog_, she just didn't like it, it annoyed her. Cillian, stunned by her angry retort spun around in one single, swift movement, and he was quick that she almost bumped right into him.

"Whatever his name is, he's still a _dog_." he replied just as if he hadn't heard the unnerved tone of her words; a warm, dazzling smile decorated his lips but she really wasn't in the mood to acknowledge its effect on her. Her heart was always beating this fast, right?

"That _dog_ just happens to be my friend." she countered, using her fingers to sketch quotation marks in the air around the term, while her voiced was dripping with sarcasm. She tried to shoot a warning death glare back at him but she failed shamefully when he gave her another of these breathtaking smiles again. She slowly began to realise how her mother must have felt all the time in the presence of her father, she had heard the funniest stories of her failure to even create easiest full, meaningful sentences as long as he was smiling at her. And just like it had always happened to her mother she was usually torn out of her trance as soon as he spoke again, catching her off guard with his reply.

"A friend that sees nothing but a killer in you? Either you reconsider your definition of friendship, Little Bird, or you should start looking for better friends." he said without mercy and she immediately felt the harsh pang of pain tearing at her heart at hearing him saying this truth out loud; it made it even more real and she had to swallow hard, forcing to put herself together and not to start crying like a little sissy. To her great surprise, Cillian did not smile at her now, instead his eyes grew soft and yet angry, though she was sure this anger wasn't directed at her; it was as if he had just felt her pain and his eyes alone managed it to soothe her.

As she stared at him, a moment of complete silence passed and all the unsaid pain that had caused her leaving erupted between them; then he slowly turned to walk again, leaving her, again, with the choice to follow him – and she did. However, now she didn't walk behind him any longer but walked right next to his side, as an equal, as a companion and again she allowed her thoughts to wander off.

Of course, it would have been a bald lie to say that she had only left because of what had happened between her and Jacob, she knew it was not the only reason. Her head suggested only the slightest movement to the right when she stole an unnoticed look at the Vampire who walked at her side. She had been fascinated with him, by him, since the very first moment she had seen him; it were not so much his breathtakingly beautiful looks that had enchanted her, though she could not entirely deny that possibility, but rather this sense of freedom that appeared to radiate from him.

Everything about him, from his clothes, which were an old, worn-out jeans, a black shirt and a black leather jacket, to his bare feet, his wild, short, blonde hair, everything about him simply screamed rebellion against any possible convention, he didn't appear to yield to any laws or rules. He was the personification of freedom and she had found herself lusting to experience this freedom. Since, all her life she had been captivated by the chains of other people's expectations: her parents and her family who expected her to be the best at everything, and Jacob, _Jacob_ who expected her to deny this other part in her.

Jacob who couldn't accept that she had the natural desires of her kind for blood; although when she had been still a toddler he had joined her on her hunting trips, in later years, it seemed, he had expected her to give up this bad habit. What did he think? That it was something you only did as a child, like wetting the bed, and when you got older you learned not to do it? The Vampire inside her was not something she could shut up so easily, it was a living, breathing part that, from time to time, held more power over her that she would love to admit. She could not stop it, even if she wanted to.

In this moment when she had seen Cillian, a Vampire almost like herself, it had been like door pushed open to another world, her inner Vampire finally freed from his chains of morals and expectations; he, in contrast to Jacob, who had subconsciously reprimanded her for her desires, fully accepted what she was _and_ what she needed, what she wanted. His hunger was exactly like hers and everything about him, his eyes in particular, told her that he did not hesitate to satisfy his needs, nor did he feel any shame for it.

He represented a freedom she hadn't known existed, daring to do anything you wanted, neither fearing nor caring for the blames of other people or your own conscience. It had been this promise of freedom that had fascinated her, that had initiated her leaving in the first place. Even before Jacob had destroyed the deep connection between them with his words, she had already decided to leave, subconsciously she had already made this decision in the very moment Cillian had entered the clearing. It had been like a wink of destiny and who was she to defy fate?

In that moment, she had somehow magically realised that Cillian was the one thing she had been waiting to happen for her whole life; meeting him had inflamed the desire in her to learn more about this hidden world that her whole family was part of her. It had always been a world that fascinated her, a world in the shadows that her parents had kept her away from. They had always meant to protect her, but it had made her feel like an outcast, she was like a being made of two incomplete halves, she was neither completely human nor a real Vampire, she did not belong anywhere.

All her life she had tried to force herself to fit into the human world, trying to live up to her parents' expectations, trying to appear good and as human as possible in Jacob's eyes; but she had been forced to live a lie, she was not a human, not entirely anyway, and it had almost physically pained her to pretend to be something that she wasn't. Now, however, did she have the chance to enter another world and to finally be able to accept that part in her that she had always been forced to shut down.

It was as if Cillian had freed her from her invisible chains and the chances of freedom he promised were too tempting to ignore them; she allowed herself to get seduced by his idea of freedom. He made her feel, for the very first time in her life, free and complete, as if she was a complete, a real being, as if she, finally, belonged somewhere. She felt right now that she belonged with him.

* * *

"So, what are you?"

The question tore her out of her thoughts, she had admired the raw beauty of nature of the ancient forest they were currently wandering through; and thus she hadn't paid much to where her feet led her which nearly resulted in her walking right into him. Cillian, who had half turned around, was looking intensely at her, his eyes, now of a much darker shade of red, tried to read her expression as if her thoughts were written all over her face, and, considering the strong genetics she inherited from her mother, they probably were.

The matured Vampire in the shape of a young, handsome man smiled leniently at her oh so human reaction to being so suddenly torn out of her thoughts and momentarily overthrown with confusion. However, Renesmee, despite being a human by looks, still was a Vampire inside and her reflexes were – if not as quick as a Vampire's – still much quicker than any ordinary human one's; she almost immediately recovered from her first surprising moment and recalled the question he had asked.

"I'm a hybrid. A part of me is human, another part of me possesses natural features of a Vampire." she answered naturally, her feet starting to move again and she resumed to walk at his side while she began to list the various curiosities of being a half-Vampire hybrid, "Inhuman speed, strength, decent self-healing skills, sharp senses. And..."

"...and thirst?" he suggested with a small smile decorating his perfect lips and automatically she looked over to him, meeting his eyes for the merest of moments. The word _thirst_ alone made the burning feeling in her throat become reality and she swallowed hard; to her great surprise, when she stole a glance sideways at him again, she noticed that he, too, swallowed hard by the mentioning of that fatal word and what it represented for them both. She took a deep breath before she forced her thoughts back to what she initially wanted to say and resumed her explanation of herself.

"Yes." she answered slowly, responding to his previous suggestion, however, now her voice bore a slight but noticeable shaking, "I can survive on blood just as well as human food. Though..."

"You prefer blood?" he suggested again and, just it had happened before, their eyes met; their connection, though it was still fresh and fragile, was already grounded on a level so intimate that one glance of their eyes could bear so much more meaning than a thousand spoken words. It was an uncanny experience, and although she didn't quite understand their relationship yet she was more than ready to accept it, with all possibilities and all consequences.

Renesmee nodded slowly, confirming his suggestion, as she stared at him, her whole being completely transfixed by the intensity of his eyes and she swallowed hard again, unable to look away, unable to even breathe out of fear to destroy whatever was happening between them. His dark, red eyes were glancing at her with the most mysterious expression that sent shivers down her spine, leaving her with a good yet strange feeling of him looking down at her very soul. She felt instinctively drawn towards him, she couldn't help it; he gave her something she so desperately needed, but she wasn't yet sure whether or not she really wanted it. Nothing made sense any more.

She finally managed it, under the use of her full repertoire of willpower, to wriggle herself out of her trance and to tear her eyes away from his hypnotising glance. She blinked several times, trying to shake off the last remainders of this mysterious feeling; the way he could make her feel confused her and the power he already held over her frightened and fascinated her alike.

For a while they walked side by side in silence again; Renesmee was lost in her own thoughts again while she mused over the strange connection that grew more and more obvious between her and the mysterious Vampire. She was very well aware that Cillian was watching her silently but for the moment she ignored it, or at least she tried to; it was actually much more difficult to pretend that she was not affected by his silent looks that she would have ever thought. She wasn't exactly sure what it was but in his presence her will and power melted away like ice touched by fire.

"How exactly did you come to be? I've never met anyone quite like you."

Again the very handsome Vampire next to her managed it to disrupt her current chain of thoughts and to push her straight into a moment of utter confusion, before she blinked several times, finding her way back into reality. His question was not at all unusual, after all there was only a small number of her kind and the chances of him having encountered even one of them, even if he was, possibly, were old for a Vampire, were rather slight; it was only understandable that he desired to know more. Renesmee met his glance as she tried to recall all the details she had been told and to remember what she had experienced herself.

"My father is like you, a Vampire; he fell in love with my mother, who was still a mortal at that time. After everything I've been told, my mother conceived a child from him – "

" – that child being you, I guess?", Renesmee stared at him for a moment after he had, again, interrupted her; usually she was very ungrateful when people interrupted her but when it came to him she sort of seemed to be able to make exceptions. After what felt like half a minuted she suddenly turned away from him, her eyes squeezed shut and she swallowed hard while she tried to pull herself together; a look from him alone shouldn't make her feel like that, right?

"Exactly." she finally said, confirming his previous suggestion as she continued her explanation, "Against all odds, against every known theory that a relationship between a mortal and a Vampire wouldn't work – however, rather because of the danger and not so much because of biological obstacles as we figured out – my mother became with child. I could already understand things while I was inside my mother's womb, I knew that I was causing her pain, after all, a human is not suited to have a child like me. I was just too strong already for my mother, I couldn't help it.", at this point she made a short pause, the memory alone made her shudder. The blinding darkness that had scared her, strange voices that'd soon become familiar penetrating into her cave of flesh and warmth, and she remembered her constant fear of hurting this wonderful being in which she nested inside, this motherly being that had would give her, her life; she had been so afraid to hurt her, she had barely moved at all, knowing full well that a single stretch of her limbs would break her fragile, human bones.

"I nearly killed my mother when she gave birth to me, I remember that I broke her spine –", again she had to suppress a heavy shudder threatening to overcome her at the mere memory, "– but my father saved her; he turned her. However, it was almost too late for her."

After she had finished her little tale she let go of a loud and long sigh, a deep sound of relief; she hated thinking back at how much pain she had caused her mother – already a monster as a child, she thought but she impatiently shook her head, trying to get rid of this dark thought. Next to her, the young, handsome Vampire appeared to think about her story, possibly musing about the chances of an Immortal and a human creating such a mysterious child. When he addressed her again, after what felt like a little eternity, he seemed to talk to himself or to the world general rather than to her really.

"Half a human, half a Vampire...Who would have thought it to be possible? But nothing seems impossible when a Vampire, dead as a being as it is, can give life by simultaneously taking it.", his whispered words almost got lost in the wind's wild whistle, but she heard them anyway, following with burning interest how the eyes of the Vampire turned to slits, myriads of thoughts flashing visibly through his look. He seemed, like everyone of his kind, to be naturally opposed to the idea of a human pregnant with a Vampire's child, though she wasn't sure whether or not this resulted from his fear for the mortal or rather out of other, less, well, less human feelings. Like everyone else he appeared to be completely surprised, shocked and fascinated by the mere thought of it, probably having believed it to be impossible for a mortal to a conceive or deliver a Vampire's child.

However, and though she had tried to forbid herself such thoughts, she knew that just because he hadn't known of the possible consequences for the woman didn't mean he had never loved a mortal in his long life span as a Vampire. Almost instantly unbidden images stole their way into her mind and poisoned it with wild thoughts and a feeling that she would have identified as jealousy. It was, of course, ridiculous to feel jealous, his past should be of no interest to her and she hardly knew him good enough to even consider feeling jealous over whatever he had done in the past, no matter if with mortal or immortal women...

Renesmee shook her head vigorously, impatiently; all of this really shouldn't concern her now, after all, she hadn't followed him because of any amorous feelings, but because she had been fascinated with the dark, hidden world he represented, because she had hoped to learn from him, to learn how to live in peace with herself and that darker, wilder side inside her. For her, he was a companion to share this new freedom and she only ever saw a mentor in him, nothing more, right? But why did her heart beat so fast when she looked into his eyes and why did it sound so much like a lie to say that she didn't feel anything for him?

* * *

"I'm tired."

It was already the darker side of twilight, the sun bathed in an ocean of red and violet colours at the horizon when she finally announced this statement. Renesmee came to a halt, crossing her fragile arms in front of a chest, just like a little child, stubbornly refusing to go on. They had been on the move for most of the day and god only knew how many miles they had passed; though as a half-Vampire hybrid she had a much better stamina, she still felt the straining feeling of exhaustion. Her feet hurt and she felt tired, really tired, and above all else she felt hungry; she really should've thought about eating something first before she left, but then again, her mind had been a bit too preoccupied at that moment to think 'Eat!'.

Cillian, as a response to her announcement, stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around to her, he eyed her with an expression of utmost fascination that made her shiver deep down to her very core. She should have been used to these kinds of looks by now; after all every Vampire she had met – she remembered the days in her childhood very well – was fascinated with her being, stunned by the impossibility of something like her and yet to see that was indeed possible. It was this moment of shock, after what felt like a thousand years to still encounter something that could surprise them, something they hadn't known existed – and it was this expression, now, that stared at her out of the Vampire's eyes.

"So, a being like you needs to sleep? Fascinating.", was everything he said as a comment, and after that silence erupted between them again. Renesmee, unsure of what to do, took his statement as a permission to rest here for the night and so she did not hesitate as her fingers went to her bag. Said bag was a dark brown, leather satchel and looked at the moment completely over-packed with a handful of clothes and a tightly rolled-in sleeping bag, which she promptly pulled out of her satchel. She was very well aware that Cillian was watching her while she prepared her sleeping bag for the night but she simply tried to ignore, though that was easier said than done. She could feel the burning eyes of the Vampire in her back but she didn't turn around, even as the prickling feeling in her neck became almost unbearable did she not turn towards him.

She had noticed more than once or twice today that his eyes were capable of doing strangely fascinating and frightening things to her world of feelings. Looking into those orbs of the reddest shine was a most dangerous thing; she could not breathe, she could not think when she looked into those eyes, everything that'd once meant the world to her became meaningless, life itself became meaningless, and she found that she would give it up, gladly even, for only moment more of staring into those eyes. She found herself getting lost to him and what he unleashed in her, though she was not yet ready to admit it to herself.

This, then, had been her first day in a new world; like the bravest heroine in the thickest books she had left her home behind, and everything belonging to it that made it home, she had left everyone behind, just in order to chase after a vision of freedom she wasn't quite sure yet whether or not it was reality. She had made the decision to follow Cillian into the Unknown; she hadn't merely left her home, she had left everything familiar behind and had set off into the wild, big world, ready (or maybe not?) to explore all the mysterious and wonders it held in store for her.

When she had finished preparing sleeping bag for the night that hardly deserved the term bed-like device, she didn't hesitate any longer and simply into the layers of warm, soft fabrics, inside the sleeping bag she curled herself up into a tiny, little ball. Sleeping like that had always giving her a sense of safety, a sense of home, even here in the wildness. For a moment she kept her eyes shut tight, hoping for the much needed sleep to take over, but then she opened them with a defeated sigh again, unable to shake off this troubling feeling of uneasiness.

"Don't be afraid, Little Bird. I'll watch over you. So, rest assured.", Cillian's voice sounded from a spot quite near, it carried a warm, soft tone that covered her in a feeling of utmost safety, just as if he had read her thoughts he spoke to soothe her fear of him leaving her alone in the night; she knew now that he would not leave her side, she knew as long as he was with her she had nothing to fear. And with this one comforting thought she finally drifted off into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

OK, so I'm really sorry and I know that it took me like super long, but I've just been super busy - that's really the only justification I can give for my long hiatus. Please, don't hate me.

I really, really hope you like this second chapter. We find out a bit more (really more) about Cillian. Oh, yeah, and Nessie is faced with her own possible feelings for him.

Please, please, be nice, when you read, be so kind (extra-super-kind!) and leave me a review. It'd make my day. I'm starving for your thoughts on this story.

* * *

**2. Vampire Stories  
**

When she woke up the next morning, for Renesmee the world seemed to have changed dramatically and yet it had stayed exactly the same. The sun had already been up for hours when she had opened her eyes, her mind still vaguely captivated by the slowly fading imageries of a dream that had enchanted her in her sleep. It had really been a strange dream, but even now that she still floated between sleep and consciousness she could barely recall what she had experienced in her mind's eye.

She remembered that she had been in a forest, it had looked very much like Fork's woods, only with even older trees and the sun had been shining so brightly, she had known instantly that this had to be a dream. A roaring sound next to her had shifted her focus away from the trees to her left side, she had turned around and – if she hadn't been asleep, she probably would've screamed, maybe she had even screamed in her sleep – was faced with the most horrific scenery of all.

There at her left side stood a wolf so big, so monstrous, with fur made of a russet colour that glistened like the lethal shine of blood, its large muzzle torn open, roaring at her with a sound so deep and dark, so wild, so full of hatred that she had instinctively retreated in her dream landscape. There were still traces of blood around the beast's mouth and as her eyes took in the bigger picture she finally noticed the myriads of corpses, men, women and children. Had the wolf killed them all?

As if fate had chosen to answer her question her look was drawn to her own hands and to her greatest shock she found her arms and clothes soiled with the colour of red, the colour of blood; and sure she now noticed the wicked taste of this wonderful elixir of life on her tongue. She wanted to scream, releasing the shock and disgust and pain that had dammed up inside her; her mouth was torn open, but no sound escaped her lips, she only vomited more and more fountains of blood.

Another deep and aggressive growl erupted from the throat of the beast in front of her and she, who had sunken on her knees – whether out of weakness or out of shame she could not say – feared for her life or did she maybe really beg the beast to end her pitiful, abnormal existence? Was she really just a monster, destined to be destroyed? Did she deserve to die?

It was in this moment exactly that she became aware that they were not alone. Her head had turned to her right side, and there, at the other end of the clearing, stood a man of the most handsomest face she had ever been chosen to look upon, or was he really just another beast, disguised by the wicked mask of beauty? She noticed that he, too, was soiled with blood, his arms, and clothes, and above all else his sensual, voluptuous lips that shone even redder with that colour of blood covering them.

There she stood, then, a maiden, cornered between two beasts of two different natures – the animal and the devil of beauty – who slowly crawled closer. Which one of them would dare to take the first step, which beast would dare to take the first bite? There was blood, still, left for both of them, her life not yet spent, she had still so much more to give. Whom would she allow to be her destined death, whom would she allow to change her? Whom will she choose?

Before, however, her mind could have screamed the answer to that question, she had woken up as abruptly as it could possibly have happened. A sound had made her jerk up out of her sleep and simultaneously out of her dreams as well; and now that she looked around with still sleepy eyes, she found Cillian staring at her for a long moment before he returned to his task of getting a fire started. His usually so careful, soundless fingers had broken some little twigs apart and thus created this loud sound that had torn her out of her dreams before she could have had the chance to find the much needed answer to this urgent question.

Renesmee was just about to scold him for his impertinent morning salute when she became aware of _why_ he had been working to make a fire; next to him on the floor lay a relatively small but nonetheless very deliciously looking rabbit. The half-Vampire hybrid blushed heavily when she realised that he had been working to prepare a breakfast for her, probably trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake her up and, maybe, even to surprise her with it after she'd woken up. As a response to that, she swallowed down her ill-mannered reprimand and simply got up.

As she slowly rolled up her sleeping bag to stow it away in her leather satchel again, her thoughts wandered back to her dream once more. Of course now, even after the dreamy illusion slowly faded into nowhere, did she realise the true meaning of what she had been seeing within her sleep. The Wolf and the Vampire, Jacob and Cillian – and she was captured between them; the allusion of this dream hadn't been lost upon her. Both figures had drawn closer, eyeing her with a lusty expression, seeking out to possess and change her after their own design – and in their claws she was to be formed for both their pleasure. Which one of them she would choose, it would change her for good, of that she was sure.

* * *

Renesmee sighed contently while she consumed another bit of the now, perfectly grilled rabbit, and she probably would have licked her fingers to get even more of that tasty masterpiece if she hadn't had a very well-mannered upbringing. For someone who was logically not even able to taste and therefore to know what he'd doing, Cillian was very much a magician of the cuisine when it came to cooking in the wildest nature. This was, possibly, one of the best breakfasts she had ever had, simple but unbelievably good.

While she fingered for another and as it seemed last bit of the rabbit, her eyes wandered to his shape again; at the beginning of her eating-session he had stared at her with transfixed eyes with the most fascinated expression, now, however, the initial interest in seeing someone eat seemed to have worn off, and he had shifted his interest elsewhere. He was currently staring into the depths between the myriads of trees, his whole body tensed as if he was expecting any unwanted visitors.

She hadn't been able but to notice that his eyes, previously painted in a reddish tone of almost blackish night, now bore a much lighter colour, and, since she had been brought up by a family of Vampires, plus being half a Vampire, too, she assumed that he must have been hunting while she had been asleep. Of course it was stupid to think like that, but she felt slightly uncomfortable, knowing that, while he had promised to watch over her for the night, he had truly been on the hunt. She wasn't even daring to pursue her thoughts further into the direction of asking silently _what_ he had been hunting; the red colour of his eyes told her all too well that his main blood supply did not favour animals.

But at this stage her brain was far too fogged by the strange pull of her heart to ever feel fear; of course, after all she knew it could have been easily her who had been chosen to be his prey – she had been asleep, helpless, a veritable victim to his hunger. Renesmee shivered at the mere thought of it; Cillian who had noticed her reaction shifted his interest back to her, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, trying to figure out what had made her feel uncomfortable.

She did not dare to meet his look in that moment, she was afraid to see the truth reflected in his wonderful and so horribly beautiful eyes; she feared to see that the true reason he had taken her with him was to satisfy his hunger. She knew he was fascinated by her, with her; but did he only crave the knowledge he could gain from her or did he lust for more? Her heart beat so fast at the sudden image that disrupted her thoughts; she had seen herself, buried in his arms, his lips red from her blood as his mouth kissed her neck once more with the burning touch of his teeth.

She shivered again – though she was not sure whether out of fear or out of an unnatural feeling of pleasure – as she closed her eyes, forcing herself to get rid of the image, that sudden intruder of her mind, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on her knees, staring into nowhere, trying to figure out what all of this meant. She was very well aware that he was watching her, his suspicious gaze focusing on her with a burning intensity that made her heartbeat speed up. God, how she wished he would stop looking at her like that! She couldn't think when his eyes rested on her like that!

"How did _you_ come to be?"

Her sudden, whispered words nearly surprised herself more than him, but only almost; she hadn't actually meant to ask that question, it was just something that had popped up in her mind, and had curiosity ever killed the cat? When she looked up, wondering why he wasn't immediately answering her question, she saw this expression of surprise and shock written all over his face, as if this was the last thing in the world he had expected her to say in this moment – and she couldn't but feel triumphant at finally having succeeded in stunning him to the extent of momentary speechlessness. Cillian stared at her, his bright, red eyes burning themselves into hers as if he tried to figure out her real intentions behind that question, and since he hadn't yet been able to find what he had been looking for –

"My Sire, the Vampire who created me, was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my whole life." he began, his eyes still never breaking contact with hers; the expression on her face was similar to a child's, listening awestruck to a new fairy tale. The way he had started his story made her assume the end already, but still she listened closely as he carried on with his tale.

"I was still very young back then, naïve, adventurous, reckless.", at this point, he interrupted his story with light chuckles, his gaze had wandered on to a place only he could see, focusing on a memory only he knew of; still, his amused expression was saturated with hints of bitterness and regrets, though he tried not to show it, "I dismissed the prospect of a decent life with a wife and children, a decent but monotonous life, and instead, foolish as I was, I sought for the wonders of the world. My Sire was very well aware of that. My innocent arrogance made me such an easy victim."

He stopped again, smiling to himself, smiling about his earlier, younger self and about his naïve thoughts and motives, his reckless actions. Renesmee was looking straight at him – he was looking away, at a point past her face – and she believed to see images and sceneries reflected in those reddish eyes, as if his thoughts and memories were straightly deported into those two orbs of him. She wanted to urge him on, to continue with his tale, but she hesitated, she didn't want to interrupt his current chain of thoughts, and she was too thoughtful a being to ever urge someone to do something he doesn't want to.

"I met her in a bar." he finally said after a while, apparently he had drawn himself out of his thoughts and decided to proceed with his tale, "I was drunk, from the beer and from her; I followed her outside into the woods. In that night I thought myself to be the luckiest man alive – at the end of the night, however, I realised that luck wouldn't even grant me my life.", at this point he swallowed hard and something like pain seemed to flash through his eyes, darkening the shade of the former bright, red colour, but she might have been deceived as well.

"I don't remember much from my transformation, but I do remember the pain.", his voice sounded now much more like a whisper as if he, too, was completely gripped by his own tale. Renesmee had unconsciously moved closer to him, fascinated and completely caught up by his words. She had listened so often to the tales of her family, each and everyone of them telling her their own stories of how their lives ended and a new one began. Yet, here she sat, listening hungrily to every word he uttered, as if she couldn't figure how this story must end.

"I am not sure how long I burned in the fire, but I knew when I opened my eyes that air would never smell the same, that food would never taste the same and that my life was now damned to be an existence in the shadows of this world." he went on, his eyes now suddenly but most intensely fixed upon her; she could not breathe, his eyes so dark, so deep, and she was like the light of sun that drowned and vanished in it, a little flame swallowed by the overpowering force of darkness. She was more than sure that the heavy, wild beating of her young heart was easily heard by him, yet he did not acknowledge it, whether or not out of decency she could not say; only a small smile decorated his perfect lips now, but he was not amused by her, it was rather his look now fixed upon his past again that made him smile, his own foolishness that amused him.

"In this situation I gave myself over to the wisdom of the lady who had created me; we became companions and together we explored the wonders of this world which I had so desired to see."

Cillian finished his tale without a warning, the end as impassive as his telling had been, yet his words left her in a trembling feeling of uneasiness, but still accompanied by a sweet feeling of amazement. She, who had lived with the Immortals for all her life, had yet never known the reviving kiss of death, and she had been brought up, wise enough, never to desire it. Yet, here she was, thinking; how pleasurable a pain it must be to die in the knowledge of being killed out of love, or to be killed with love?

"Where is she now?" she asked, finally, after a few moments, to distract herself from her preposterous thoughts rather than out of real interest for the Lady he had once known; in the hindmost part of her head, though, there was a voice of jealousy announcing the real reason for her asking of the female Vampire's whereabouts. But she forbade herself such thoughts, and even more, such silly feelings, feelings which were not, could not, be real. Not yet, at least.

Renesmee, since she was too caught up in her own thoughts and confusing feelings, wasn't aware that he was looking at her; his red eyes fixed upon her figure with an intensity lacked by any human being. If she had sensed his look it would have made her heart stop dead in its tracks. He eyed with the intent to unravel what was going on behind those warm, brown mirrors of her soul, trying to guess why she had really asked this question. Maybe he figured the reason for her question, or maybe he did not, maybe didn't even want to, he simply provided the answer she wanted to hear.

"She is dead."

Upon his answer she looked up, meeting his eyes for the briefest of moments. He had sounded truly lost at the announcement of this statement. She knew, he was undead, but not incapable to feel; was it possible that he missed his former companion? She had learnt that usually there was a very tight bond between a Sire and his creation; out of gratefulness, or devotion, out of fear or out of desire to learn – sometimes one simply sought for the feeling of belonging _somewhere_, belonging to _someone_. It was the only thing, sometimes, that could make sense, and keep the madness of loneliness away.

"Did you love her?"

Renesmee couldn't meet his eyes when she asked this question, she was unsure whether or not she would like what she would see reflected in them; eyes, always, said so much more than words – words could lie in a way that eyes never could. She felt her heart beating so fast within her chest that she believed it to jump out of her chest at any minute. Of course, actually, his answer, whatsoever it would be, should be of no interest to her, she shouldn't care so much for it, and she definitely shouldn't fear him to say yes. She knew fair well that she had no motivation for jealousy over someone that didn't even belong to her; yet something in this clever, cool piece of advice sounded very much like a lie right now. Her wildly beating heart couldn't but notice that he owed her an answer still.

"Love is a rare thing in my world, Little Bird." he finally said, and it was obvious that he chose his words carefully, maybe because he didn't want to unravel too much of the mystery man he was, or maybe, yes, maybe because he knew quite well of the turmoil of her heart. She didn't look at him, though she concentrated very hard on his words, trying to figure out what they were supposed to mean; she wasn't aware that he was watching her with an expression of amusement, yet there was also a deeper tone in the looks of his eyes, rather different from amusement. If she had had the courage to meet his eyes she would have been confronted with an affection so intense it would've left her breathless. But she didn't look up, and she didn't see it.

"I thought I loved her, and maybe what we shared had really been love, though our feelings were not expressed through romance and tenderness." he concluded and at this point, though he had neither confirmed nor negated her fear, she felt it safe to look up. He was not smiling any more, he was looking straight at her and she felt her breath falter. Even if she was partly a Vampire, a part of her was still human, and in this moment, she could only, possibly, react to a glance such as this as any other woman would do. She blushed, and though she should know how dangerous a thing blushing could be when you sat next to a predator in the shape of handsome man who had a rather extensive hunger for human blood, she could do nothing against it.

She swallowed hard, her breathing coming flat and short, and she felt herself trembling under his intense eyes; her heart was beating so loud and fast now that she believed to have difficulties in understanding his next words, "It is a rough world I have lived in, but, don't be afraid, my dear, my world holds also wonders you would have never dreamt of, and I shall show them to you all. I think you'll be very happy."

And as he got up to prepare their leaving, she watched him with thoughtful eyes, knowing, no feeling, that he had actually meant to say, that _he_ would make her happy, and in the moment this thought crossed her mind, she had absolutely no doubt that it would be true.

* * *

"Where are we going?"

They were currently walking alongside an old motorway. They had just passed a super-small town which name she hadn't even been able to pronounce properly, and one might have mistaken them for hitchhikers, undoubtedly quite a few cars would have stopped in order to give those unbelievably beautiful creatures a lift, well, if only some cars were actually driving across this god-forsaken road. But nothing – and she actually started to wait for the first hay bale to roll over the road like it was shown in all those old Western films. In this moment, Renesmee felt like she really had travelled to the end of the world, and right now her boredom was seriously killing her – this was partly the reason why she had made again a new attempt to start a conversation.

Cillian, who always walked in front of her, seemed at first not have noticed her question; for quite some days now, to be more precisely since they had left the forests behind, he had become strangely silent and thoughtful, almost moody one could say. She mainly blamed it on the fact that with the forests they had also left behind the protection the trees provided for them; if the sun came out – not that this miracle occurred exactly often in the wonderful state of Washington, but it was definitely a risk they took – at least Cillian would be revealed to the world, in all his beautiful, rather shiny glory. Of course, right now, their secret being discovered was a rather unlikely option, since no bloody soul walked this road, except these two, and, properly speaking, only one of them really possessed a soul if you looked at it from a philosophical-religious point of view.

After a few seconds however – if she'd been merely human, she hardly would've noticed his hesitation – he slowly turned around, only to grant her the first real smile in days. Apart from the fast that his abrupt halt caused her to nearly crash into him, she had to confess that the intensity of his gaze might have played a not so minor role in her well-nigh crash as well – his eyes and his dazzling smile.

It was not like he hadn't smiled at her at all for the last few days, quite on the contrary, he had always offered her small and polite smiles; when she got up in the morning, when he prepared her meals – she had wasted hours over hours trying to explain to him that she was very well capable of doing the cooking but gentleman as he believed himself to be, he wouldn't hear any of it – or when she talked to him in general. He always smiled, however, she hadn't been able but to notice that these smiles always lacked a certain light in his eyes, they lacked the life that a real, honest smile always possessed. They had not been real, and that's why this smile here made all the difference.

"Into my world." he finally said, after he had judged and valued her question for some brief seconds, his lips widening into his warm, irritating smile again that she had missed for some days now. Renesmee, however, instead of being all content with his response, rolled her eyes over his, naturally so very cryptic, answer. Was it a Vampire-thing that they just couldn't give straight answers? Or was this just him testing her patience again? Cillian, either because he hadn't sensed her unnerved mood or because he rather enjoyed it, simply kept on smiling that damn self-confident smile.

"Are we going to meet other Vampires?", Renesmee gave it another try, she wasn't yet ready to give up; after all, he couldn't always pretend to be a bloody Sphinx, at some point even an Immortal know-it-all had to give straight answers – and since he considered himself a gentleman, he wouldn't want to push his luck too far, would he? Cillian seemed to interpret her renewed attempt at initiating a conversation as her usual enthusiastic curiosity about, well, pretty much everything – not that she wasn't curious, she certainly was – and so he offered her this well known warm smile.

"If you want." he simply said, offering her, as he had done it so often, as he always did, the possibility to back out and retreat into safer territory; usually she would have simply laughed about it, and usually she never hesitated, but this time she didn't return his smile and almost immediately the expression of his face changed from amusement to concern. He must have sensed her nervous fear, or he had simply read it in her face. She could hardly imagine what horrors he must have read in her face; his voice sounded thick with concern now, and with protectiveness.

"Don't be afraid, little Bird, I won't let anyone hurt you."

Renesmee looked at him for a moment, simply looked at him, really looked at him; she saw that he really was concerned for her, and in this moment she couldn't but be moved by it. Then the moment passed and she sought dissolve the tension between them with a little smile of a rather nervous nature. Her glance fell down again; she felt stupid now for having been afraid for even one second, there was no doubt that Cillian would protect her from any harm, and he certainly would never force her into doing something she didn't want. Yes, she felt rather stupid and girlish now, and just as it always happened in such situations she attempted to cover her silly fears via laughing a rather nervous and unreal laugh. However, it did do the trick and Cillian turned to walk again.

For a few more minutes they walked in silence, just as if nothing had happened, he walked in front of her, leading the way, and nothing but silence passed between them; Renesmee, however, spent those next minutes in a deep, scolding discussion with her own self. She really could be so foolish sometimes, he must really think of her as someone who is afraid of his own shadow. Renesmee Carlie Cullen, the Chicken of all Half-Vampires, yes, that's what she was. She groaned in frustration, before she focused her attention on her companion again. An idea struck her, and in the burning need to prove herself as brave and cool – as it often comes with the energy of youth – she gave the conversation-thing another try.

"You know, you're not the first Vampire I met outside my family. I've met the Volturi once.", for a moment there seemed to be no reaction coming from him, but then, he slowly turned around, consequently stopping in his tracks and she halting with him. Cillian have her a strange look as a response to her bragging – and what else had it been? – statement. It was a mixture of blindingly obvious amusement – after all, after centuries of living, human emotions and actions must seem painfully predictable to him – and something she would have guessed to be awe.

"I wasn't aware that you know them." he simply replied after a while and, though she knew she was being rather foolish, she smiled sheepishly as if he had just granted her the greatest compliments of all time.

"Have you ever met them?"

"I've..._encountered_ them once.", at this point, the small smile on his lips reduced a little and took up a rather bitter note, matching the tone of his voice, "A long time ago."

Renesmee looked at him with big eyes; he had emphasised the word rather strangely and the bitterness of his words making her wonder what the nature of his encounter with the Volturi had been; and though the curiosity was nagging at her like a hyena she couldn't bring herself to ask for it all too directly, instead she chose somewhat of a way around it.

"Do you – did you like them?", Renesmee pulled a face, even in her own ears that question sounded stupid but it nonetheless did the trick: Cillian smiled again. Truth be told, her words made him smile again, but rather like an adult smiling down upon a child, amused by her ignorance rather than surprised or shocked.

"In my world, little Bird, it's not so much a matter of liking someone or not. We respect each other, that's what matters – I can respect another Vampire, but that doesn't necessarily mean I have to like him, and it definitely won't stop me killing him."

She rolled her eyes over his response, feeling rather more like a lectured child than a grown woman, and this feeling was even more emphasised by him using his pet name for her. Still, no offence taken, she thought and, bearing his words in mind now, she addressed him once more.

"So do you respect them then?"

"Of course, I do. How could you not?", Cillian only smiled in response to the shock that was probably now painfully obvious written all over her face, "The Volturi are the oldest Vampires we have, maybe even the strongest ever to have walked this earth. They are the law in our world, the symbol of order. Without them chaos would reign and our world would tumble and fall. In this sense, yes, I do respect them."

"I guess that they tried to kill me and my family once is of no importance to you then?", the words had left her mouth before she could have possibly stopped herself, it was just the childish impulse in her, a stubbornness inherited from both her parents. Cillian, who had walked on, apparently assuming that their conversation would have drifted off into silence again, stopped again and slowly turned around. He looked at her directly and she swallowed hard under the intensity of his gaze; for a moment she believed to have seen something like anger flashing through his eyes, a shade of protectiveness darkening his eyes as if the briefest mentioning of her being threatened was enough to enrage him. The idea thrilled her, but then, as sudden as the protective light had crept into his eyes, it was gone again.

"They must have been really afraid of you, my dear, if they really thought of killing you." he said with a weak laugh that was probably intended to dissolve the tension between them his look had created; he turned to walk again, "That they thought of you important enough, dangerous enough to be killed is fascinating. Consider yourself honoured."

"I am not so sure that's what I feel when I think about it." she murmured sarcastically and with a hopeless sigh she caught up with him, in order to follow him, to whatever destination he would lead her.


	3. Chapter 3

So, here I am, back again! I know, it's been quite some time since the last update - but I'm actually quite busy, people! However, I'm not here to bother you with my life business.

This chapter is very important to me. For those who have actually read "The Maiden and The Wolf" this is a very interesting chapter; it'll explain how Renesmee got infected with those ideas about tasting human blood and feeling right and proper to do so. Yes, Cillian is some very convincing bloke, after that chapter you might agree as well.

**I really, really hope I didn't mess this up. Since this whole story initially popped up out of the idea to deliver a reasonable explanation for the so drastically changed Renesmee in my other fanfic, I really hope I could do it some justice and present a coherent explanation for it.**

Apart from that. Oh yeah, Cillian is very, very..._HOT_! Did I tell you that before, if not, I tell you now! *LOL*

Dangerous sexy men are my favourites. ^^

So, right, before I forgt: **PLEASE, PLEASE LEAVE ME SOME REVIEWS! IT'D WOULD MAKE ME SOOOO HAPPY, AND IT'D SHOW ME THAT ALL THE WORK I'M INVENSTING IN THIS WHOLE WRITING THING ISN'T A COMPLETE WASTE OF TIME!**

_**Last but not least: Who is your perfect Cillian? Make some suggestions, send me photos (via PM)! I'm rather curious whether or not you will come up with the same man that inspired me for this character!**_

* * *

**3. Of the Morals of Blood**

She did not move.

Renesmee crawled on the dark, wooden floor, her slim, elegant form so neatly pressed into the ground that the forest's undergrowth almost completely absorbed her. She was barely breathing and hence her body did not show any sort of motion, yet her whole body was gripped in a tension harder than life itself, all her muscles were tightened, all her senses heightened up to a point where every bird's twitter deafened her eardrums. Her eyes, so golden and warm before, were darkened to a tone of deep brown now, almost a touch of black crept into those orbs; and the whole attention of her eyes was fixed upon her object of desire, sensing its every move, nearly foreseeing every next step.

The young deer wasn't aware of its predator that waited hidden behind the trees; patiently and peacefully the animal grazed, revelling in the green freshness of the grass which grew all over the clearing. From time to time its head rushed up, its ears twitching into all directions, its big eyes observing its surrounding – but there was nothing to be found, it was alone, and so the deer brought its attention back to the grass.

Renesmee stared at the young animal, her body in complete unison with her instincts; she almost entirely lived for the moments of the hunt, a moment of day only in which no concerning thoughts, no ridiculous ideas, no shameful regrets terrorised her head – in these moments her mind was cleared of all human traits, and she was allowed to simply surrender to the predator inside her. How divine a moment it was to feel the full strength of her being; exposed to herself the force of her muscles, the sharpness of her instincts, the thrill of the hunt, and the taste of blood. In those moments, she was a human no more, but a Vampire, truly and completely shaped by nature to hunt and to kill – to her, it were moments of freedom, and she was addicted to this freedom of such a short temporary nature.

Renesmee dared to take another deep breath, and with the refreshing air came a scent so sweet and delicious she felt her mouth watering; for a second only she allowed herself to close her eyes, revelling in the wild, dark, reviving smell of blood. She took another deep breath, and then another one, before she opened her eyes again. All of the sudden there was a tranquillity in the air only the hour of the hunt possessed; it just appeared right, like all parts in a puzzle, predator and prey took up their roles to form a picture of magnificent harmony. And then she attacked.

Years of experiences in hunting and stalking her prey had made her a veritable expert in hitting the exact right moment when to go for the kill. She was too fast for the animal, the deer was barely granted a moment of shock, its thin legs frozen, its eyes torn wide open – it would have screamed if it could – when she threw herself upon it. The force of her attack dragged them both to ground, they rolled around many times before she finally pressed it down on the wooden floor; then she broke its neck with a single, swift movement of her hands – she was, after all, a predator with human mercy.

However, she did not immediately plunge her teeth into the soft, furry throat of her prey after she had killed it; instead she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, allowing her pulse to slowly calm down. It was a habit she had developed over the years; in contrast to the rest of her family she did not satisfy her hunger already during the struggle, but rather gave herself a moment or two in silence to appreciate what was given to her. It was a moment of peace, the fight already a shallow memory only, her prey still and silent in death's sleep, but the blood, oh the blood still warm and sweet.

She then slowly leant over the dead deer and inhaled another deep surge of that wonderful, mouthwatering smell before she finally granted herself the far too long-denied taste of that sweet, dark blood. She drank almost greedily, seeking to extinguish a fiery thirst that yet could never be quenched; how divine an experience it was to feel it wetting her lips and tongue, creating an explosion of tastes before it went down her throat. She never got used to this intoxicating feeling.

It was in this moment, she had not drained the deer of its whole blood yet, when she felt a sudden sensation, a feeling in her neck that made her shiver and she instinctively knew she was being watched. She did not waste a second, and though she was still bent over the deer, she immediately turned her head towards the stranger. It didn't come as a surprise, really, that Cillian had been the one who had observed her. He stood several metres away, barely hidden behind a tree, but his Vampire ability of stalking prey had easily outshined her talent – she had not known him to be there, and she wondered now how long he had been watching her from his hiding place behind the tree.

Their eyes met almost immediately, and there was a strange expression in his look that made her feel uneasy, to say the least; his eyes were darkened to a colour of reddish black, though she knew perfectly well that he had been on the hunt much more regular than she had been: hence, whatever hunger lurked inside him, it could not be satisfied by blood only. As a response to this realisation, a strange wave of emotions washed over her; fear and shock dominated her for a moment, but then those feelings were slowly replaced by quite another sensation.

Even from that distance she could see his forehead frowned in confusion, his dark eyes turned to slits as he tried to figure out what was going on inside her head; he must have sensed the change inside her, the fearful moment of shock vanished, replaced by something he would only have guessed to be curiosity. That's how they faced each other, their eyes locked, both judging each other's expression, both considering and reconsidering whether or not to make a move, or to form words which wouldn't destroy the frail beauty of this encounter.

It was Cillian, then, who made the first step; his eyes constantly fixed upon her, and when he noticed that she did not shy away, he slowly moved towards her, approaching her with a caution and a hesitation in his steps that confused and thrilled her. Did he fear she would attack him? A Vampire's territorial behaviour, in particular when hunting, was not of a very generous nature, in that sense his experiences must have told him to be careful with her. Or was he concerned that she was afraid of him? Or was he himself afraid of his possible reaction towards her in the face of blood?

In seemed like hours passed until he finally stood right in front of her. He was close, so close to her, their bodies only inches apart, their breaths touched each other's faces, caressing their skins. He stared at with the most intense expression, making her frail shape shiver and she wasn't sure any more what strange feeling stormed inside her. Was it fear or was it curiosity, was uneasiness or a pleasurable emotion shaped out of all these feelings? In that moment he seemed so close to her, and not only his body, their souls, their minds seemed to touch, making this encounter more intimate than any word or touch would have made it. It was pure sensation, overwhelming, unbearable, undeniable.

"Little Bird, you have spilled a little...", his statement barely more than a whisper and his voice sounded strained from an exhaustion rather sensually emotional than physical; strange as it was, his words did not seem to disturb the moment between them, rather it added even more depth to the sensational feeling of closeness. Renesmee, after hearing his words, became almost immediately beware of the wetness that moistened her lips and partially her chin too, which she hadn't noticed before, her mind having been far too consumed by his presence to ever note such a banality.

She waited, not sure what to do or say in this situation, and to be perfectly honest, she was rather curious to see what he would do now. At first, Cillian lifted his hand, carefully, as if he was still afraid she would shy away from him, his fingers touching her perfect lips and it seemed like he wanted to wipe away the blood, but then, she could literally see the thoughts flashing through his eyes, he reconsidered. His hand fell down at his side again and then, to her great shock and excitement, his head bent down, drawing closer to her. Was he going to kiss her? Renesmee felt her heart start to beat uncontrollable at the mere though of it.

His mouth was so close now that when she moved but a little their lips would touch and her fate would be sealed, their paths ultimately forged together. She closed her eyes, awaiting her destiny, of whatever nature it would be. But he did not kiss her then. Instead, she felt, to her sensation, his tongue, darting out of his mouth, touching her lips as he licked away the blood, and then further south to absorb even the last, tiniest droplets on her chin, before he returned to her lips again.

Meanwhile she stood perfectly still, not even daring to breathe; a part of her was afraid, the other one was thrilled, because on the one hand she knew how different it was for a Vampire to control himself when faced with fresh blood, and on the other hand because of the way he made her feel. His tongue lingered on her lips, even after every tastable trace of blood had long vanished, if only for a moment longer than necessary, before he, apparently content with his work, moved to lean away from her again, just as if nothing had happened between them, but she wouldn't have it.

Her fingers grasped his shirt, keeping him in place, and though she knew he could have broken away from her grip easily enough, he didn't do anything to do so. Their lips were still only inches apart and she could feel his cool breath washing over her face, caressing her shivering lips; how divine it would feel, how satisfying it would be to get to know the taste of those lips. In this moment, the urge to kiss him was simply killing her. She could, of course, blame it on the blood, the blood that would make her feel like that, wild and daring, hungering for more than just the red liquid, the need to satisfy a much deeper, much darker longing, but she knew it would be a lie.

She felt his hand coming up then, caressing her face and with a sigh she gave into his icy touch; the tension between them was not yet broken, rather it was heightened by the renewed touch of skin on skin. How simple a touch as this could make her heart beat so fast, could make her long for something she had not known before. She was a candle, only recently lit, and she burned hot and glaring, burning brightest and no wind, no darkness could extinguish this strange, new fire which had been inflamed within her heart.

It was in the moment, then, when his hand slowly sank lower, placed around her throat in the shadow of almost brutal force, that she finally opened her eyes and found the courage to look up. He was breathing hard and flat, he swallowed hard; and his eyes so dark, so wild, bore themselves into hers, burning of an intense fire that promised life where death had reigned for many years – as if a muscle, strong enough to lead a whole organism of limbs and nerves, which had been put to sleep for decades and centuries, was revived to beat again. Would it not beat only for her?

But then, all of the sudden, the moment was gone. Cillian, who seemed to have been struck by reality itself, quickly stepped back; he was almost panting, his eyes torn wide open and he stared at her with a expression of utmost shock. Had he realised the danger of the situation, the possible consequences for himself and for her? Captured in a dispute with himself and the storming accusations of his own conscience, long ago put to sleep, now wide awake again, he consistently shook his head in defence of his own actions and desires. For a moment, he looked at her again, an immortal longing screamed at her, but then he was gone, leaving her alone with the outcome of their strange meeting and her wild thoughts.

For a moment, she seemed to have frozen in a state shock, she could not move nor could she think or realise what had happened, or could have happened; and then she let go of a deep sigh, all the tension leaving her body as she fell down onto the earth. She was breathing hard and fast as if she'd just sprinted across the whole State of Washington; wild, tempting thoughts, images and desires for a man she barely knew rampaged through her mind and as she lay there on the wooden floor she knew that the only question she had left now was whether or not she should yield to it.

* * *

"Why aren't you drinking human blood?"

The question came positively out of the blue and tore her out of her thoughts; Renesmee looked to her right side where Cillian walked right next to her. He wasn't looking at her, his eyes were fixed upon a point too far away for her demi-Vampire eyes to see, and she couldn't but noticed that he avoided her look intentionally. His sudden question had surprised and shocked her, for they had walked hours after hours in silence, without uttering slightest of words, hence hearing his voice made her jump up for a moment. But he hadn't seen it or he just didn't want to show it.

After her first shock was overcome, she wondered how he had come to know of it, but then she realised; in the last few days they had passed several towns and slept at some rather shabby-looking inns. However, instead of going the easy way she had rather stolen herself into the woods in order to find her prey; he had, of course, noticed her preference for animal blood, maybe he had even followed her now and then, watching as he satisfied her hunger.

After that intense moment in the woods on her first hunt none of them had brought up the subject; they had just carried on as if nothing had happened. But Renesmee hadn't been able to forget that moment between them, it had followed her ever since, in every minute, night and day, consuming her thoughts and even haunting her in her dreams. The consequential question of what might have happened if he indeed had kissed her then had given her many sleepless nights. But as it seemed, she hadn't been the only one who had carried the burden of that fateful moment between them; Cillian, too, it seemed, had given it more than just one thought.

"I can easily live upon animal blood." she finally stated matter-of-factly; he sneered contemptuously, her response seemed to amuse him.

"Well, I wouldn't call it _living_, I'd call it _surviving_.", he snorted again, amusement and disbelief, scorn even, were displayed in his face's features; it was the expression of a man who believed himself superior and every other idea appeared ridiculous and pathetic. The smile on his lips with almost cruel edges suddenly faded away as if it had struck him that his words might have hurt her, or her beliefs; he reconsidered and when he spoke again, his voice sounded warmer, earnest, humble even.

"Why do you _deny_ yourself the taste of human blood?"

"It's not the way of my family." she replied softly, eyeing him suspiciously, trying to figure out why this matter meant so much to him. She knew quite well by the colour of his eyes, which were of a dark, red tone, that he mostly, if not entirely, existed upon human blood – did he simply prefer its taste or was there a sublime, cruel reasoning for him favouring human blood over animal blood?

"Your family?", he sounded truly surprised at her using such a word, and the way he pronounced the word told her that the meaning of it was something he had known a long time ago, but chose to forget. She stopped in her steps just like he had done it and looked over to him; his eyes were narrowed to slits, she had noticed it was his usual reaction whenever she surprised or confused him. Of course, the use of such a word must seem awkward to him; she knew quite well that family was hardly a proper term for anything concerning the world of the Undead, but, after all, she was someone most people wouldn't call proper either.

"My family is not a mere Vampire coven – we are connected through more than just the thirst of blood. We are connected by love, and respect.", she wondered whether or not he would understand what she tried to say; after all, understanding the word wasn't as hard as understanding its real meaning, and for him, having lived alone for so long, the idea of something like family of Vampire must seem abstruse. However, to her surprise he only smiled encouragingly, his eyes fixing upon her as if this new piece of information had only made her even more precious in his eyes. She felt safe to explain her own deals of morality, safe that he would understand, or even agree?

"My family differs from your kind, gravely. We do not feed on humans, only animals. We believe it's not right to kill innocent lives."

"Not _right_? Little Bird, it's only natural.", she looked up, shocked, rendered speechless by his almost impassive response; Cillian smiled at her, as if he waited for her to agree to this monstrous idea, and he didn't seem to notice at all how terrible, how cold his statement had sounded. She swallowed as she stared at him; a picture of perfection slowly shattering in front of her. All this time she had thought him to be one of the good guys, and yet, had she not known all along that he was satisfied only by the taste of human blood? She had known, and yet, she hadn't questioned it. So, why did his words shock her so much? Was it, perhaps, not the fact what he was doing, but rather the way he thought about it, that terrified her? Renesmee stared at him, drinking in his most perfect image, desperately trying to find the killer in him, but she could not.

"We, Vampires, are predators and just like all other carnivores we only follow nature's call. Does the lion spare the lamb's life just because of morals? No, of course not. He kills it, because it is only natural. We hunt and kill the prey nature has chosen for us. We are all just members of a gigantic food chain, and it just happens that it chose us to be the predators and the humans to be our prey.", Cillian, who must haven taken her silence for curiosity or a sign to continue, had gone on to explain his idea of life and death, and most of all, of the morales that blood dictated all beings on earth, in his – not so humble – opinion.

"This is barbaric.", Renesmee countered his smile with a grimace of disgust as she stared at him full of disbelief; she could not believe that the world to be so brutally simple, and so simply brutal. She didn't want to believe it, everything in her rebelled against such thinking, it was against everything she'd been taught, everything she'd believed in. It was a shocking idea, and yet there was a temptation in it that she could not so easily dismiss.

It was a lustful, dark form of justification that tempted her; if it was really only a nature's call, a law made by nature itself, who was she to deny it? All regret, all shame would be gone, replaced by a feeling of satisfaction – she would no longer be ashamed of what she longed for, but freed to accept it as something as natural as breathing. She would no longer have to burden herself with the mark of a killer, she could be free to accept what nature had offered her. It was a sweet, so tempting idea, an idea of power – it was nature, after all, that had chosen her to be the predator and who was she to refuse her natural place in this food chain?

"It's the world you have been born into, my dear. Only the strong will survive.", Cillian smiled at her; did he know of her confusing, wild thoughts, of the wickedness that his words had unleashed in her? And hadn't this been his intention anyway? Renesmee swallowed hard and shook her head violently, trying to get rid of those dark thoughts, trying to remember the ways of her family. She knew she had no right to justify the killing of innocents, even if nature had created her this way, she still had a will, and she had the choice – and that was the only thing that mattered after all. She was not a mindless beast, she could choose to whether or not to tread the path of slaying innocent blood.

"Am I also nothing but your prey?", the question had come out of her mouth like a bullet, shot to kill, aimed to hurt; and she was hurt, and ashamed by his words, what was more, by his ideas. She could not believe that his beautiful mask of grace and generosity was in fact just that: a mask, a beautified illusion created only to disguise the immoral devil that lurked beneath its surface. His statement had hurt her; had they not mocked the beliefs of her family, their search for higher aims, their principle to honour life instead of taking it?

Yet his words also ashamed her; as surely as if she had looked into a mirror she had been forced to face her own superficial tendencies. She had been blinded by his beautiful shine, his gloriously good looks, and they had led her to believe him to be a good person, too, with thoughts similar to hers and those of her family; but she had just realised that nothing in this world was as it seemed. However, there crawled another kind of shame within the back of her head; a shameful, little voice that rejoiced in the wild, brutal freedom he preached. But she was too stubborn, too moralising to accept it. Yet.

Cillian appeared to be completely shocked by her sudden exclamation; the surprise of her having countered him so vigorously was still eminently visible on his face, and for a moment he seemed rather speechless. Was he even aware of what his words, and the dangerous content they demonstrated, had done to her? Or did he not care at all? Or was this even what he had initially aimed at; infiltrating her yet virgin mind with the desire to take pleasure out of another being's pain and misery?

"No, Little Bird, whatever you are, you are not my prey.", he was not smiling this time when he uttered those words, hardly more than a whisper, but even more effective; his low tone gave them the shape of an oath and she so desired to believe him.

"But am I not – after you precious, little theory – nothing but a human ready to be slaughtered by your hands, gladly even?", she pretended to not have been touched by his sincere statement, instead she covered the paradoxical feelings within herself – the fear of the monster inside him, and her longing for him to protect her from that very monster – with stubborn anger and aggression. Cillian, however, did not feel the least intimidated by her harsh, sarcastic tone; his bright, red eyes burned themselves into hers and she swallowed hard at the intense fire of inhuman passion she dared to read in them. She shivered, and then he said the words she swore she would never forget for the rest of her life.

"You are so much more than just human, Renesmee, never forget that."

* * *

Renesmee sighed heavily as she rolled around in her sleeping bag, trying to find any soft spot on this rather hard, woody floor; Cillian wasn't with her at the moment, she assumed he had vanished into the night again, looking for some food – maybe he had even decided to pay a little visit to the town they'd just passed today. After a more or less fatal incident in a little, shabby hotel – corpses, completely drained of their blood did after all attract some attention – they had retreated to the woods as their best possible overnight stays again. And while she slept, Cillian probably roamed the forest or the towns.

After several more attempts she simply gave up and opened her eyes with the last, defeated sigh of a sleepless person. She knew she probably should say something, protest against his way of living, but then again, the cowardice voice of politeness inside her questioned whether it was really her place to judge him and his morales, if that's what she could call it. She only knew him for hardly a month, she could not expect him to convert to her views and ideals. And apart from that, though she barely dared to allow herself such thoughts, she wasn't too sure about her and her family's principles any more after all.

Ever since their first, big conversation about her vegetarian life style and him confronting her with his philosophical musings about life and death, and the link of consummation between both, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about what he had said. The reoccurring phrases of what was right and what was wrong had since then conquered and dominated her thoughts; of course, it wasn't much of a help either that he continued to throw in snide remarks and little comments, which made her question her ideals and beliefs even more.

She very well remembered their last discussion; while she had sat at the fire, consuming the latest feast he had created for her, he had watched her intensely, this well known, little smile decorating his perfect lips, amusement brightening his red eyes. Between delicious bites and chewing, she had commented again and again on his own eating habits, trying to maintain a pretence of dignity while she formulated principles of humanity between smacking and slurping. He had only smiled as a response to her criticising little words, as if she was merely a child not knowing what she talked about.

"Evil is a point of view." he had finally answered to her constant nagging, his eyes had blazed with an intense fire, the passion of a man not ashamed of his lusts, no matter the consequences; he was the guide to a path of freedom it was almost too dangerous to tread, "Just think about it. The humans, for example, are afraid of the shark, a predator without equal; in the humans' eyes he is evil. But what happens when the most feared predator is gone?"

At this point she had already stopped eating, a vague aura of wisdom had seemed to radiate from him as he had gone on to explain his own ideas of a predator's place in nature's law. Perhaps it was the deep timbre of his voice which seemed to carry an almost magical power that she was never able to counter his statements with any arguments full of her family's principles; whatever it was, as soon as he had started speaking, her body, and her senses, rather than her mind were dangerously eager to believe everything he said.

"The ocean is a fragile biological ecosystem, every animal in it serves a purpose, keeping this system intact – even the shark. With him gone, fishes would reproduce unstopped and uncontrolled, chaos would reign and the submarine world would die, eating itself up. The shark is necessary, he is not evil, he is the maintainer of a fragile balance of life and death.", at this point he had stopped and they had both swallowed hard; now he hadn't been smiling any more, "Maybe, just maybe, we too are not evil but a necessary factor for this world to survive, destined to maintain a feeling of order. Just think about it."

"You talk about yourself as if you were God himself.", her words had come out harsher than she'd intended them to be but what he'd just said, the meaning of his words had touched a weak point, causing the anger to boil unsatisfied beneath the surface of her calm facial expression. The self-righteousness tone in his words with which he had justified his killings disgusted her, a flash of hatred had surged through her veins but she'd dismissed it as soon as he'd locked eyes with her again, "So, is that it, then? That's how you defend the murders of innocent people? By claiming to maintain an order?"

"Forgive me, I didn't know I was standing trial here to defend myself or my actions.", for the first ever his voice had carried a tone of harshness, only softened by the sound of mockery, but it had shocked her still to hear him counter her blames with such fiery anger. For a moment, she had been silenced by his words, but then she'd reconsidered and started again, now with a much softer, more sympathetic tone.

"What about humanity, Cillian? What about respect for the mortals? You were once a mortal, too."

"A very long time ago.", his eyes had darkened to a colour of almost black at that point, his voice full of bitterness and anger and she had swallowed hard, a slight, uncomfortable feeling of fear creeping up her neck. She wasn't sure what to counter to his words, so rashly spoken; it was as if two very different characters sat in front of her, switching places as often and sudden as sunlight turned to shadows and back again: Cillian and then the Vampire in him.

When he had spoken again, he had appeared unaware that she was still with him; his eyes had been fixed upon a spot placed in nowhere and he'd whispered those words to himself rather than to her, as if it was him, and not her, he ultimately tried to convince of the rightfulness of his actions, "All mortals have to die, it's how they were created. God himself – if such a thing even exists – sealed their lives with an end. God himself kills indiscriminately, so why shouldn't we do the same?"

Renesmee awoke from her memories when she heard the rustling of some leaves on the woody floor; a sound, she knew, deliberately made in order to let her know that it was him who had come back, in order not to scare her. She, however, did not show any signs of being awake at all – her inner turmoil was too great as if she had been in the condition to talk to him right now – and though he must have known by her quickened heart beat that she was indeed wide awake, he did not so much as tried to start a conversation. He merely sat down on the ground, quite next to her, always watching, watching over her.

Her eyes stared into the darkness of the night while his words still echoed inside her head, determined to haunt her. _Evil is a point of view._ Could he possibly be right? Could it possibly be true that what she thought to be murderous killing was in fact nothing a most natural impulse? Was it not rather the struggle against this impulse that was unnatural? Her pulse quickened in response to those thoughts; his words had infected her thinking with ideas she feared and craved for at the same time. While a part of her was still repulsed by his principles, the other part in her was positively eager, desperate even, to believe in the justification those beliefs provided.

While she slowly drifted off into sleep, that human part in her still clung to the morales she had been taught all her life, to the humanity inside she had been taught to savour, but then again, it was just as Cillian had said, she was, after all, so much more than just human – and those morales belonged to human inside her, but not to the Vampire any more. And the last thing she saw in her mind's eye, before sleep overcame her, was the memory of a Wolf with russet fur, those eyes focused on her, once so soft and warm, now hardened with anger and hatred – in the end, a decision had been made.


	4. Chapter 4

Here I am, Back again! I'm so so so sorry, I know it's been like ages since I last updated, but I have been so incredibly busy, so I really, really hope - since this chapter is extra-long - that you will forgive me the annoying stress momentum of my real life!

Have fun and as always review and comment!

* * *

**4. The Immortal Coven**

Tranquillity.

Renesmee way lying on the woody floor, with her eyes closed and her senses heightened to a level of almost sensual sensibility to every natural impression and impulse that surrounded her. Beneath her the slightly moist grass caressed the skin of her arms, no longer clothed by her thin wool jumper; the thin hairs on her skin swaying in the cool, soft breeze of the wind. She smelled the odour of the woods, deep, dark, and yet sweet, a mixture of resin and fresh grass; a vague, nasal memory of last night's rain haunted the woods and contributed its part to this symphony of scents. She'd always loved how it smelled after it'd rained; an odour of purity, of naturalness, soaked by a smell that could only be described as _wet_.

Through her eyelids her mind could sense the light of the sun, and though under that forest canopy she was almost completely drowned in shadows and shade, every once in a while a single ray of sunshine managed it to penetrate through those guardians made of leaves and shone down upon her. Her ears listened, although not very closely, to the sounds made by the forest; the songs of birds, unintelligible conversations between hidden toads near a river or crickets; beneath her body the earth shook in almost unnoticed vibrations of the thousands of ants and insects. The woods were very much alive, completely unaware or untouched by its new, mysterious visitors; the chaos of daily routine, the thrumming heart of each and every single inhabitant of this wooden kingdom – they all were vibrating within the pulse of life, where chaos and harmony became one and the same.

While she rested there in the grass, she was very well aware that she was not alone. In a very close distance, Cillian sat on an old tree's stump, leaning against its hard, strangely deformed bark while he played with a little blade of grass, letting it roll through his fingers without, despite his inhuman strength, breaking it into halves. He looked as though he could be sleeping, with his eyes deliciously closed, equally enjoying the rare caresses of sunshine that made his skin shine in the brightest glory of men; but it didn't take a Vampire's senses to know that he was not sleeping after all.

His eyes, though they appeared to be closed, were yet slightly opened, leaving only millimetres for him to peek out between his eyelashes and to turn his gaze on his favourite object of interest. That god of a man he seemed to her was listening to her very own heartbeat, though unnaturally quick for a human it was, it seemed to offer him a peace, a sense of tranquillity he had not known before, he had not known existed. A small smile, dazzling and haunted by light mischief, decorated his perfect lips, and if she'd had her eyes open, she would have seen it. But, perhaps, it was better for her not to have seen it; lately, his smiles did strange things to her and to her emotional life. "Remember that I told you we would meet other Vampires?", his voice, though soft and velvet as usual, seemed rather sudden at the moment and managed it to tear her out of her dreamy state; she opened her eyes, for one moment blinded by the sudden flash of light, but then, after her eyes had adjusted to the bright sunshine again, she sat up, observing him curiously.

Since this morning, when she'd complained about their ongoing – in her opinion rather random – travelling, they had stayed in this forest, idling in the green, not even speaking to each other; they'd simply enjoyed nature's beauty and the warmth of each other's silent company. These were the first words he now had spoken to her since this morning, and the nature of those words pushed her curiosity button to the top.

"Yes?", she was painfully well aware of the high-pitched tone of her question, nervousness and excitement tightening her usually velvet, dark voice and she cleared her throat before she repeated her question quickly, forcing her voice to sound much calmer now. However, her silent hopes that her outburst of most childish anticipation had gone rather unnoticed by him weren't answered. As she smiled broadly at him, mainly to cover her infantile excitement, she could see him opening his eyes to throw a chiding look at her, before he himself stared grinning.

"Well – tonight would be the night.", he laughed rather heartlessly, if not cold, and resumed while he put his head back, "They are close by, but they know me well enough not to approach us, unless we approach them."

"Some old friends of yours?"

"Not exactly friends, no. Acquaintances.", as a response to her question he had coughed loudly as if he had choked upon the wrong words, as if deciding in the last moment to rather tell a euphemistic tale instead of the truth. His face distorted into a grimacing mixture of pain and bitter amusement, and something she would have definitely interpreted as embarrassment. The tone of his answer confused her – what's his deal with those acquaintances as he mysteriously titled them?

"Well, will you tell me about them?" she asked when he had remained silent for quite some time, fearing that this momentum of speaking-generosity had already passed away again. She was very well aware of the childishly demanding tone of her words, but curiosity had gripped her with an iron-clad grasp, and it wouldn't let go of her until her hunger for new gossip was sated. After all, when had curiosity ever killed the cat?

"What do you want to know? But trust me, there's not much to tell.", he laughed lightly, his eyes softening as he watched the sight she presented to him. She smiled at him, curiosity burning behind those mirrors of her soul; her knees pulled up against her chest, as she looked up to him, like a child listening to a story teller, eagerly waiting for the next tale to come.

A child, undoubtedly, she still was in so many ways; her eyes shining in the renewed light of anticipation and thirst for knowledge, and even the apparently most unspectacular things managed to amaze her. She appeared like a nymph, dancing barefoot in the rain at night, according to the thrumming beat of nature's rhythm, pure life radiating from her shape. A fairy being of beauty she was to him, untouched by hatred, greed or vanity, an innocent to all the darkness in his world; and out of his shadows only he dared to gaze at the light that she was – he feared to reach out to her, afraid of her light that might blind him, or dreading his own darkness to devour her brightness.

"There's Tamara – she is not very civil, I'm afraid." he began slowly, his voice bearing a slight, but noticeable note of contemptuous amusement as he went on, "She is as vain as any Immortal can be, and bitter, so full of bitterness.", he paused again, his eyes slightly narrowing as he appeared to search for the right words. Images of passed centuries seemed to flicker through his look; distorted faces, laughing, mad, screaming, crying; dancing figures of great and terrible beauty – Renesmee shuddered and looked away, assuring herself that she had just imagined things. Cillian, meanwhile, went on, drawing her attention back to his tale.

"Her companion, Gwain, also sired her. Now, there is not much affection between them any more. She has never forgiven him that he turned her, or forgave herself for being naïve and vain enough to be seduced by the idea of Beauty and Immortality that he represented to her. The only reason they still cling to each other is out of fear to face eternity without a companion.", he finished with a dry laugh that sounded more like a snorty cough, showing his contempt for his former tale's figures, who had once been – and destined to be soon again – very much alive to him. He then drew their attention towards another main character of his passed life's book, opening the picture now to a much darker chapter.

"Then, there is Sibylla, who loves to play with her food.", at this point, his eyes darkened menacingly at those words and Renesmee felt cold shivers running down her spine, not sure whether her feeling of uneasiness resulted from his words or from his sudden change of moods (could his possible affection for her be as easily turned into its opposite?), "Her two companions, Ethian and Fiann, brothers once, now rivals for her rare tokens of affection, are only one example for her cruel sense of entertainment. She is, despite all that, very sophisticated, an accomplished lady with excellent manners, which, however, makes that other side in her personality only worse."

After that he fell silent again, leaving her in cold shivers that run down her back, and she instinctively felt fear for that Lady of the name of Sibylla; she imagined herself an incredible beautiful woman, with a face of roses and ivory, but with a wicked, evil grin that rendered her once gorgeous face into a mask of obnoxious features. She wasn't sure any more whether she really wanted to meet those old friends of his, or acquaintances as he had rather claimed them to be.

"Last but not least, there is Aaron.", his words dragged her out of her thoughts, and she looked up, now listening carefully for the introduction of the last character to come, "He is the Head of the Coven, if you want. As charming as he is, he is extremely dangerous. He loves to see himself as a gentleman, a scientist – but he is a creature which only sees pleasure in the shocked and scared faces of his victims. He loves what he is and what he does, he is a true artist of death."

Renesmee shivered as she tried to picture the figure of Aaron in her mind; but no matter how hard she tried she could not get imagine him, for some reason she always saw Carlisle's mild and merciful face in her head, though she knew that this leader of the Coven had nothing in common with her grandfather. In her thoughts, that man appeared as a distorted version of Carlisle; his face grimaced into an evil grin, his eyes glistening in a red, bloody fire. She stopped thinking, closing her eyes shut, she didn't want to think of it now, didn't want her thoughts to overpower her.

Perhaps, she mused, yes, perhaps, there was not even something to fear. At this thought she threw a look over to Cillian, who, still leaning against the bark of the tress, still sitting in its wooden lap, stared onto the now torn apart blade of grass in his hands. As she watched his silent and strong features she didn't doubt for a second that he would protect her. Yes, she knew she was safe with him.

"How did you meet them?"

"Jocelynne, my Sire, introduced me to them.", he didn't look up as he answered her question, as if he had been waiting for her to ask that question, not even the least surprised that her hunger for knowledge was apparently not yet sated, "She had been close to Aaron. I believe, he was her creator. However, after her death there was a difference between them and me, and I left."

She frowned her forehead over his words; his voice had sounded strangely mysterious and cryptic at the last sentence (not that she could recall any specific moment where he had chosen, at least for once, not to speak in riddles...) and it inflamed her curiosity once more. So, hoping that his very liberal mood of giving answers today was not yet extinguished, she addressed him again.

"What was the difference about?"

Upon her question he suddenly looked up and in that moment she knew that her hopes would fail her; she had asked the wrong question, and she knew that she would not receive her answer today. Cillian gave her a long look, yet it appeared as if he was not really seeing her at all, he rather gazed at a thing in his long lost past. Then his eyes locked with hers, and she could see it now; he was thinking, considering whether or not to tell her the truth, struggling with himself whether or not to open up to her. A glance of sheer longing now burned in his red eyes, the desperate wish to share his deepest, his darkest secret with her, but then the light in his eyes ceased, and she rather sensed it that really saw it, he shied away from her again, and from the chance to trust her by revealing his own darkness.

"It was long ago, long before you came. The past is of no concern now." he finally said with a low, hoarse voice after he had cleared his throat; he then threw the blade of grass, now shredded to pieces, on the ground as he stood up, turning his back on her. Renesmee opened her mouth to speak again – it was obvious that he was avoiding to give her a straight answer to her question, and she was definitely not a person to be shushed with such a response – but, upon seeing him keeping his back turned towards her, she closed it again. She knew him enough to recognise a defeat: the conversation was over.

* * *

Renesmee sighed heavily as she stared out into the night; her sharp, brown eyes, sharper even than humans, but still not good enough to grasp whatever might have been lurking in the deep blackness of night. No matter how long she glared into the night, it was impossible for her eyes to pierce through the thick darkness – it was useless. She sighed again, impatient, disappointed, frustration straining her nerves, and yet she kept on waiting. She had never been good at waiting anyway, and even now, fully grown up, the bad habit of her childhood succeeded at taking the better of her.

A vague memory of a miniature of her impatient self crossed through her thoughts and she smiled; subconsciously she felt another picture crawl up into her thoughts, too, the russet-coloured face of a boy, of a _man_, who smiled at her and her impatience – her smile suddenly became heavy with bitterness and a longing to see her home again. She had been on the move now for almost a month, and after the initial regrets had faded she had hardly ever thought of home again; now, however, the sudden impact of that rather simple memory overwhelmed her so very easily. She hadn't been aware of how much she'd really missed home, or maybe she just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it.

A sudden sound behind her – a fatal foot's step which had broken the little twig on the wooden floor – made her jerk around in one single, swift movement; she believed her heart to stop dead in its tracks, fear and panic gripping her so hard she could not breathe. Was her life, short and bittersweet as it had tasted, destined to end here and now in the black depths of night, in a forest in the middle of nowhere? The mortal in her despaired at this thought; the Vampire in her growled in rebellion.

Then, out of the dark, the culprit of night, conjurer of her fear, her very own god of mischief appeared: after all, Cillian had never seem to be able to withstand the chance of giving her a fright for humour's sake.

"_Don't_ creep up on me like that!"

"Are we a bit jumpy today?" he asked while trying to suppress the grin that soon spread all over his face, and even without having as sharp eyes as an Immortal that grin managed to mock her; then he added, his lips close to her ear, "And I wasn't _creeping_ – I was walking, _normally_."

Renesmee didn't counter his words with a sneering side comment as she probably would've done in any other moment, but the winds were too sharp and chilly, the night too dark and creepy, and his voice against her ear had sounded too softly velvet and tempting to find her natural wits and front him. So, instead of answering him with a bickering comment, she simply kept on chewing on her lower lip in nervousness, shifting from one foot to another. Cillian watched her suspiciously as she fidgeted around with the buttons of her jumper, button up and button down, again and again, until he couldn't stand the tension any longer.

"Would you please relax, Little Bird? You're making me nervous."

"_Me_? Making _you_ nervous?" she cried, spinning around, looking at him with wide eyes, clearly taking offence, before she turned around again, returning to staring into the night, and she added, mumbling under her breath, "_I_ should be the one dying of nervousness!"

Cillian raised his eyebrows in surprise at her aggravated, scolding tone; usually she was always very easy-going, though from time to time even a hybrid seemed to have its bad moods. He gave her a look as if to say that she'd been perfectly driven to her deathbed by her nervousness by now, but it was a pitch black night and she was much too preoccupied by her own thoughts to notice it. Then, after she sighed again, tension radiating from her body, he looked over to her again and her nervous, stern face left him thinking.

He knew that she was scared; it didn't take a mind-reader to see what her body's tongue told him so obviously, her shoulders pulled up, her head held low, chewing her lips, her fingers expressions of her inner turmoil. For a moment he wondered, the thoughts he had thought so often this day came rushing back to him, if it was really a good idea to take her with him, to meet those old friends. She way still so very young, no matter what his eyes might wanted to tell him, eyes are easily blinded, she was still more a child than a woman, and young, so young and innocent that he feared an angry wind's push might scratch that soft, warm skin of hers.

Cillian was astonished by himself, finding himself smile affectionately at the utmost shocking idea that he cared for the young woman standing right next to him; but as he watched her silently he knew it was true. For more than two centuries he had not allowed himself to care for anybody or anything, too great was the fear, too harsh had the lesson been, that he could ever had brought himself to be touched by all those human emotions again. Yet here he stood, his heart, which hadn't beaten since his death, found itself strangely revived again in fear for the safety of the woman with the bronze hair.

"It'll be all right."

Renesmee turned her head towards him as she heard his softly whispered words, and even in the darkness of the night she could see his eyes burning in a red, feverish light she believed to have never seen before in another person's eyes. Her heart seemed to jump as she suddenly felt the ice-cold touch of his hand on hers, his fingers soft yet strong as they intertwined with hers. His gentle comfort appeared to do the trick, from one moment to another she felt the weight of a world lifted from her shoulders. She smiled at him, full of gratitude, letting her eyes tell him what he already knew: that she trusted him and would follow him to wherever he would lead her.

* * *

The first thing Renesmee noticed was the ringing, velvet sound of a woman's laughter, somewhat in the thirties, an alto voice with the sense of a trained singer, smoky yet clear, with a tempting tone at the edge of it that yet did not succeed to cover the cruelty that lurked in there. She felt herself shiver at the sound of that voice, right down to her bones, but she tried not to show it; Cillian however, though he didn't make it known, knew perfectly well of the fear that had gripped her by the first signs of what was to come. Concern fogged his mind once more, thoughts came to him, the desperate idea to just turn back around again and to leave before they would be noticed; but they would find that it had already been too late for that.

"Is it custom now, I do wonder, whether to approach old friends by creeping around like little snakes in the mud?", the words had been spoken with a small mocking tone and a charming little twang, and that voice definitely belonged to a man, an arrogant man undeniably who seemed to have been used to being served and treated as a nobleman. Renesmee was surprised to hear Cillian, who still held her hand in his, laugh lightly at this scolding, little remark, and then, as they passed the next oak her eyes were finally introduced to the little gathering of Immortals that seemed to have been waiting for them all day.

"You do know the New World, Aaron, manners of wolves and democrats." Cillian responded and moved quickly over to the man with the name of Aaron who had been undoubtedly the one who had noticed their arrival first. The leader of this Vampire Coven appeared to be a man in his forties, though it was always difficult to tell with an Immortal – he might as well have been in his sixties; he still looked as a man in his best years, he always would. Renesmee stood several feet away from them, since Cillian had let go of her hand in order to embrace his old friend, which left her with the opportunity to let her eyes wander about and soon enough her look found the other characters who had gathered on this little clearing.

A man and a woman slowly approached this scenery of welcome and Renesmee shifted her focus on to them; the man wore a dark and simple, but elegant cloak just like all the other men, and he had rather harsh yet handsome facial features; the woman next to him, however, was an even more beautified example of all Immortals she had seen before. She had very delicate features, and very dark eyes, more black than red even; she wore a fine, long dress without sleeves or straps that flattered her elegant, regal-like form. She was a ravishing, deadly beauty with her dark, red hair, as if the hell's fires cascaded down her shoulders, and Renesmee knew, she just knew, that this had to be Tamara, the vainest of her kind; and next to her walked her companion, Gwain.

Renesmee locked eyes with that Immortal woman and she felt her heart jump in fear, cold shivers ran down her back as she stared into this hard, cold, fair face – cruelty screamed out of her eyes and she assumed that this had been the woman also whose laughter she had heard from far away; a beautified aura drenched in cruelty. She looked away and her eyes instead found the three other characters, sitting a few feet away from the group, apparently completely unaware of the new guests that had just arrived; a woman with cinnamon skin and velvet black hair sat on an old tree's lump, laughing brightly as she flirted with the two quite similarly looking man sitting at her knees, staring at her with the transfixed eyes of obsessed lovers; she assumed that this had to be Sibylla and her two lapdogs Ethian and Fiann.

It was only when Cillian had finished the usual small-talk of centuries-old friends that Sibylla and her companions became aware that there were not alone any more; the woman looked up, and so did the two brothers. The Vamp locked eyes with Renesmee for a split of a second before she cast down her eyes, feeling that she – at the most inappropriate of moments, here in the midst of a more or less bloodthirsty Coven of Vampires, who were not very well known for their human kindness or mercy – started to blush.

"Dear brothers, and sisters," he added with a little smirk while bending his head down as if he were to bow to his old female friends, "I'd very much like you to meet a new friend of mine."

Cillian turned around to her, his eyes beckoning her to come closer, assuring her that it would be all right and safe for her, and with another deep breath she took the hand he'd held out to her and approached the other Vampires. She noticed that while Sibylla looked at with curious eyes and an amused smile, Tamara, being the complete opposite, and not just in looks, stared at her with bitter, hard eyes as if she was offended by the mere presence of that newcomer.

"I have the pleasure to introduce to you: Renesmee.", Cillian, who stood behind her, gave her hand a gentle squeeze, sensing her fear and nervousness, her wildly beating heart that jumped apparently at every move the Vampires made towards her. The sudden silent tension that had erupted at such an announcement was gracefully broken by Aaron and Gwain, who, as the Gentlemen they had been born and raised up to be, approached her with warm smiles and after one another they took her hand in theirs and gently lifted them up to their lips to press a soft kiss on her hand, their lips merely touching her skin. Not that those acts helped her in any way to stop her blushing, but it nevertheless managed to soothe her initial fears, she even brought herself to offer those men a small, grateful smile.

"My dear Lady, in all my centuries I have never looked upon a more beautiful face.", Gwain made a quite courteous, charming, little bow when suddenly there was a sound of a contemptuous snort and all their eyes went to the Lady who stood behind him; Tamara, however, had her eyes fixed straight and mercilessly fixed upon Renesmee. Jealousy was clearly written all over her face; and Renesmee wasn't sure whether this rather hostile feeling was directed at her companion for betraying her love for him, or directed at the newcomer who managed to win all attention and admiration, which was usually only ever granted to her.

"Hush, my dearest, that was not very civil.", Gwain laughed lightly as he walked over to his companion who still didn't avert her eyes from her newest object of hatred and contempt. He went over to her, took her porcelain face into his hands and pressed a rather harsh and lifeless kiss to her cheek – death screamed out of her eyes, a long dead love, only the ashes of it still smouldered, and bore life to a feeling swaying between lust and contempt, an obsession, an addiction. She only dared to bear his affectionate gesture long enough for his lips to leave her skin before she pushed him away; now, had he been a mortal, that little push of her hand might have killed him, but since he was not, his reaction merely erupted in the shape of a scolding smirk.

Renesmee, without exaggerating or being prejudiced, decided easily enough that she and Tamara would never be _BFFs_; she smiled at the thought, seeing herself surrounded by a lot of red eyes, she probably wasn't going to make a bunch of friends here anyway. She all of the sudden felt Cillian by her side again, he always seemed to know exactly when she needed him, as if he could sense her fear and nervousness, and soothe those hard feelings with a single touch of his hands. She was once again torn out of her thoughts when the man Aaron, the leader this Coven, approached her with a gentle, yet lifeless smile; his red eyes looked hungry, she mused, and instinctively she felt her muscles tense at this first sign of danger – the Immortal within her had always been her strongest defence.

"My deepest apologies, Mylady, we are not used to outsiders, in particular not to such _beautiful_ outsiders, in particular not to _mortal_ outsiders.", he, again, just like Gwain had done before, bowed very courteously to her, a charming smile decorating his perfect, marble lips as he said the words who betrayed her true identity. Renesmee sensed the change in the air, the initially polite amount of welcoming attention had suddenly turned into a burning interest; even Sibylla and her lovers approached her now, all of them with those deep, red eyes.

"Oh, did you find yourself a human love-bird?"

Renesmee's head flung around at the sound of that mocking question and she was confronted with Tamara whose face had, all of the sudden, broken into a menacingly wide smile. Behind her she could feel Cillian tense at those words; his hands, which were usually always so soft and careful with her, suddenly tightened around her arms, as if he considered to stand himself protectively in front of her, or maybe to keep her from running. It was a moment at the edge of the blade, tension fogging their views, and everyone waited for the other one to make the first move. One thing was clear to all of them: this momentum would decide whether this meeting would end with or without a red farewell.

Then, suddenly, the probably most unexpected sound of all penetrated the heavy silence, cut through the thick tension: laughter; honest, bright, hearty – and even more shocking to Renesmee was the fact that it was coming from no less a person than Cillian himself. She would have turned around to see for herself that she had not been mistaken, that it had been really him who'd laughed in this most inappropriate situation – after all, how wise a person could one be to laugh when faced with danger and threat? To her very surprise, however, the Immortals around joined him in his laughter, as if the fact that a being with a beating heart and blood in their midst did not jeopardise their common sense and reason, and most of all, what little was left of their humanity, at once.

"As you will very well notice, Tamara, she is not a human.", he was still shaking with laughter as he directed those words to the beautiful Lady Vampire who still glared at Renesmee with eyes so full of hatred; then he added, speaking to his other friends now, before his last words were undoubtedly directed towards Tamara again, "Not entirely. She is half and half, neither human nor Immortal – she is unique beauty and easily outshines your commonness."

There was the unmistakable sound of a deep growl, and it was no surprise that it came from Tamara; the Vampire's eyes flashed in an angry fire, darkening the threatening red colour of those orbs even more. But she did not make any moves to approach them, actions had never been her favoured weapons, when there were words which could hurt so much more easily. Instead of her, Sibylla, with her long, black hair and dark skin suddenly rushed towards Renesmee and, to all their surprise, embraced her like a sister, as if they had known each other for centuries.

"Oh, how curious a thing. Half a sister she is then? Most curious, indeed.", these were the first words Sibylla ever addressed to her; the short Vampire released her from her embrace in order to be able to look at her properly. Renesmee, who had stiffened in her embrace, still wasn't quite sure how to react to such sudden closeness and affection. She remembered what Cillian had told her about the beautiful Vampire's fetish of cruel games – suddenly, she had quite a hard time suppressing the immediate and desperate impulse to free herself put of her arms' reach.

Renesmee looked over to her companion who saw himself now attacked with myriads of questions by his old friends; the lust for a miracle, the thirst for knowledge having been unleashed in them, curiosity burning in their eyes as they questioned the usually rather restrained, silent Vampire about who the newcomer were, where he had found her and how she'd come to be. Cillian smiled, and though it was an honest smile there was still a note of a much darker feeling shining in his eyes. There was pride, an arrogant vanity glistening in his usually calm and cryptic eyes; he undoubtedly enjoyed the attention – did he just bring her here to brag with her as his new, precious toy?

"She's an abomination, that's what she is."

Tamara's words broke to the aura of curiosity and interest like a knife cutting through an old bread, slow and deliberate, with a screeching sound that foretold what was to come. All eyes went to her, but she had only ever eyes for Renesmee, who, after having been released out of Sibylla's friendly – and due to the Vampire's enthusiasm also quite painful – grip, took a step back, swallowing hard as she tried to hold Tamara's hostile gaze. The feeling in the air had drastically changed; suspicion had replaced surprise and curiosity, animosity had switched place with friendliness – one could see, one could easily sense it.

Sibylla retreated towards her two lovers, their eyes darkening in malice, as if fearing that their mistress had been threatened, always eager to prove themselves the better companions; the Coven all of the sudden appeared to form a unified line of defence – and then, from moment to another, she felt Cillian move as he pulled her behind him, his broad back protected her like a shield of the most impenetrable armour of the whole world. Renesmee's breathing became hard and flat now as she dared to look over his shoulders; and now she saw it all, sensed it all.

Renesmee was surprised at first, it all happened so fast, and she did not understand what was going on here; but then, the little pain in her left arm answered her question: she looked down only to find a little droplet of blood shining at the surface of her skin, a tiny, little scratch, but how monstrously big an effect it had. She looked up, daring to peep over Cillian's shoulders and look at the Vampires, who had, only a few moments before, smiled at her with warm, polite affection, but now abandoned those masks of gentleness and friendliness to show their true faces.

Their eyes, red as the dying sun, slowly started to loose focus, loosing its last shred of humanity and giving way to pure, wild instincts – it was as if now that the mood of polite welcome had vanished, as if Tamara's words had condemned her to be a danger it was necessary to extinguish, there was no longer a need to restrain the beasts in all of them. They were Vampires after all, and even though she was partly one of them too, she still had the beating heart of a human and a blood so sweet and warm – she saw now that it had been trap all along, and she had just happened to walk into it. There were six of them, a Coven full of strong, bloodthirsty, cruel Vampires and only two of them, or rather one and a half – they were outnumbered.

Cillian, just as if he had read her thoughts, suddenly began to growl in response – the sound terrified her, nothing human was left in it, only the wild warning of an even wilder predator. She pressed herself into his back as he shielded her from the looks of the others, and even through his layer of clothing, even through his thick, black, leather jacket, she could feel his muscles tense, awaiting the coming confrontation. There was something deeply terrifying and yet thrilling about seeing him like that – his whole posture so full of aggression and threat and yet there was an undeniable sense of protectiveness underlying it all.

She could not but feel safe with him. They were surrounded, outnumbered, they were trapped.

But she felt, she _knew_, she was safe with him.

* * *

"Don't come any closer."

The words that came out of Cillian's mouth hardly sounded like something he could have said; his voice sounded strangely strained and tensed, but not because of fear. Cillian was not afraid, not ever. And she could see it now, feel it now, that monster he had sought to suppress for so long, that darker side of him he had tried to hide from her – now it was all there, breathing hard, growling with a deep timbre, making him appear all tall and dark and threatening. He was a true Vampire to her eyes now; but he had nothing in common with her family – he was a true Vampire.

It was in this moment the fear came; was she afraid for her life, was she afraid for his safety – or was she afraid to finally be forced to face what she had long tried to ignore: to see the Vampire within him.

"Is that supposed to be a warning or a threat, brother?", Aaron was smiling gently and generously as he always did, but she could see the cold contempt now that underlay his question, his smile was of a lifeless nature, drenched in cruelty, like a predator trying to lure them into a feeling of safety before attacking. In the background, loud, hissing sounds could be heard and Renesmee's head dared to peep out behind Cillian's broad back; Tamara was dodging into a defensive position and there was no misunderstanding possible: she wanted to fight. Gwain, who stood next to her wore the same smile as Aaron and he would undoubtedly not trying to hold back his companion when she sought to attack – and she would attack. While the dark-haired angel Sibylla did not appear to be preparing for a fight, her lovers, however, growled in anticipation for a fight that had nothing to do with them.

Never in her whole life had she hated being half a human so much as she did now – the blood in her veins rushing in the rhythm of her scared, little, beating heart, as if it knew that it had only a few beats left to live. She knew they could smell it, how the pulse in her throat thrummed desperately, how deliciously easy a victim she would be – and she could see it in their gazes, the wild hunger screaming at her out of six different pairs of eyes. And then it all happened so fast.

Ethian and Fiann were the first one to attack them, shortly followed after by Tamara who; all three of them aimed at Renesmee, whether it was only the burning thirst that drove them to this attack, or, as in Tamara's case, whether it was this rather unexplainable hatred towards her, it was hard to tell. As they lunged at them she felt her own body response to the coming attack; the Immortal in her striving to take over, burying the human inside under all that thick layers of instincts; her muscles tensed as she prepared herself to fight – but before she could even do one step in their direction she suddenly felt the sensation of being lifted off her feet and pushed away, crashing with a rather bounce down into the earth.

When the shock of the sudden _attack_ had worn off she looked up only to find Cillian, his back turned towards her, fighting off the monsters that had actually come for her; he was growling deep and wild as he threw himself on his former brothers, sending blows into their direction that could have broken bones, and it certainly sounded like it. She wanted to get up, get to him and help him, be at his side, fight alongside him, but then it dawned upon her: he had thrown her out of his way, thrown her out of harm's way.

It was obvious that he didn't want her to fight, that he didn't want to risk her to get hurt; his perfect, little plan, however, shattered to pieces when Tamara, unnoticed by Cillian at first, who was still distracted by the two brothers, made her way towards Renesmee. She got up only in time when the Vampire lady attacked her; she had hardly enough strength to parry her blows, with an incredible amount of difficulty did she manage to grab Tamara's wrists, stopping her from carving the eyes out of her skull. Renesmee knew she wouldn't be able to fight her off for her long; she was strong, much stronger than her, and her trainer with uncle Jasper seemed to have been erased from her mind completely.

Then all of the sudden she was gone, and she was pushed away once more: Cillian had finally fought off the two brothers long enough to deal with the lady Vampire. He shoved Tamara away from him and at first Renesmee was surprised that she didn't attack again, but then she noticed the broken body on the ground and, a few feet off, something that looked like a skull. Ethian was missing, only his corpse was to be found. Renesmee couldn't have looked away even of she had wanted to, no matter how terrible the sight was to her, she needed to watch, needed to see.

"Come on, then, what are you waiting for?", Cillian's hard, cold mocking words echoed through the night, but the Vampires in front of him could not be tempted in attacking him again – they had already lost one of their own by underestimating him, they wouldn't dare it again. Fiann, who growled aggressively at him, was held back by Sibylla; she took a long look at the corpse on the ground, but in contrast to the brother she didn't much seem to long for revenge. Renesmee felt her heart beat at double speed while she waited in the dark silence for an attack that should never come.

"Watch out, _brother_, or she will end up like Jocelynne."

Sibylla's words appeared atypically harsh and cold, and the smile on her lips as she said those words was of a rather cruel nature; Renesmee was drawn out of her panic-stricken mood upon this warning. Her head turned to the Coven, then her eyes rushed over to Cillian, and his body language was enough for her to read the immense message in those last words. As a response to the warning his whole body went rigid, anger and shock seemed to be quarrelling inside his soul, but she couldn't be sure, since still his back was turned towards her. For a moment, she thought he would attack again, but then he seemed to have reflected a better, fighting with his instincts, wanting to be the better man – and then, they were gone.

* * *

Renesmee didn't know how long they had been running; trees and darkness were passing them, above them the stars were glowing in a suddenly cruel light, she didn't know where they were going, or where he led her, maybe he didn't even know it himself. Cillian kept running, his hand securely wrapped around her wrist, dragging her with him, and she tumbled several times, hardly able to keep up with him.

Then, after what felt like hours he finally stopped, giving her a moment to rest; she breathed heavily, the air coming too short, too flat to calm her, she was so exhausted, tired, and just wanted to break down, allow herself to crash down onto the still moist earth and just fall into a sleep never to awake again – but what sort of nightmares would await her in her sleep? Cillian walked in circles around her, his head rushing from side to the other as if he'd just heard a potentially dangerous sound; if they hadn't just escaped a Coven of bloodthirsty Immortals she would've called him paranoid, but he was just checking whether or not they were being followed.

He seemed completely unaware of Renesmee in those first seconds, and his nervous business of checking their surroundings made her feel even more alone. It was then that the first tears came, she fell into hysterical sobs when the impact of this encounter finally settled in, she could hardly breathe as those terrible images and voices passed through her mind. Like the child she still was, she closed her eyes shut tight, pressing her palms against her ears, trying to shut out the terror that now came back to haunt her. The image of Cillian as the Vampire, so terrifying, so real, made her yelp helplessly.

Then, all of the sudden, she felt unknown, cold hands at her wrists, a muffled down voice urgently talking to her, but it made her panic even more; she shook her head, just as she had done it as a little child, trying to shut this voice out, trying to shake it off. From one moment to the other, her hands were pulled down with so much force she yelped in pain; large hands cupped her face ever so gently and then she heard him talk: as if he was Cillian, her Cillian again, and not the Vampire.

"Are you hurt, Renesmee, are you alright?"

His voice was thickened with his concern for her and it scared her even more; she opened her eyes and she saw the panic in his look, the fear that she might be hurt, that she could be in pain. The fear and concern that was written all over his face shocked her for a moment, but then his eyes softened and he sighed relieved, his head sinking low for a second as if he actually needed to catch his breath, after the moment of fear had passed.

Renesmee stared at him with, big eyes, and the tears were still burning hot in the corner of her eyes; it was in this instant, after the immediate, shocking momentum of a possible death had vanished, that she allowed her brain to recapitulate the events of this evening. Cillian looked at her intensely, his eyes rushing from left to right as if he was searching for something in her look that she just didn't seem to find.

"What happened to Jocelynne? What did they mean?", it was the first thing that come to her mind, Sibylla's warning still fresh and clear stuck in her thoughts, and she said those words rather in an act of defence, out of a stubborn impulse, trying to help herself to cope with what had just happened.

She didn't even really expected an answer, though she nevertheless hoped for it.

Cillian seemed shocked by her question, and even more so by the demanding tone of her voice, strained and hoarse from fear and tears. He didn't answer, he simply looked at her, silently begging her to leave it at that, but as he looked at her, her lips red and swollen, her eyes puffy from crying torn wide open, he knew that she couldn't. She started gripping his shirt, stared to tear at the fabric, starting to prick holes into it, as she sobbed uncontrollably and cried with always new waves of fresh tears overpowering her.

"Tell me! What happened to her? What will happen to me?"

Instead of a verbal response he simply pulled her into his embrace, and though at first she thought about rebelling against his typical behavioural pattern of avoiding to answer questions and demanding the truth from him, she was unable to deny herself the sense of comfort that his arms around her promised. She allowed herself to break down in his arms, and she cried into his icy chest, all her fears, all her anger, all her concern slowly melting down into hot tears, floating away and down her cheeks.

"Forgive me, I should never have brought you there. It was my fault.", she heard him talk, his lips close to her ear, yet seemingly so far away, muffled down by her hair; she wound her arms around him, seeking to be as close as possible to him and to the comfort he presented to her, "But I promise you, I swear, Renesmee, I won't _ever_ let anything happen to you."

His last words made her shiver down to her very core, a thrilling feeling of safety accompanied his words and closeness now, a very atypical warmth claiming her skin, her thinking, her feelings; somehow in that moment the feeling of being in his arms did not appear new or strange, it felt surprisingly natural, it was as easy as breathing. She held on to him and to whatever warmth it was that seemed to grow inside her, warming her from the inside out, making the darkness of this world appear under the glowing shimmer of a burning light. She wanted to be burnt by the light that was him. And while she embraced him so hard she must have drawn bruises, she then wondered, whether or not she was starting to fall for him.


	5. Chapter 5

So, here I am, back again! In this chapter, folks, we shall find out what really happened to Jocelynne, Cillian's sire and companion of the old days.

BTW, thanks to dkgors , mel , Twilight Fan , Guest and russetfurbr for the lovely reviews! You guys seriously rock!

So, and as always, Review and Comment! Keeps me going!

* * *

**5. The Tale of the tragic couple**

Renesmee lay on the bed, above the bed covers, she half leaned against the headboard and stared up to the ceiling, chewing on her lips in nervousness as she, from time to time, dared to let her eyes wander about, only to focus on Cillian's unusually restless shape. He, with his habit of looking out through the window for what felt like every five seconds, was exactly the reason for her being so nervous. After that monumental-catastrophic encounter with his old Coven, Cillian had turned into _Kevin Kostner-Bodyguard_, over-concerned, over-protective and slightly paranoid; and though she much appreciated him feeling all protective of her, it seriously started to give her the creeps.

A few days had passed since that escapade of their near-death in the woods and since then Cillian had decided to move from motel to motel, they never stayed long in any place, not long enough for her anyway to get used to the alarmingly bad quality of beds or showers, not to mention the grumpy room service. She was torn out of her thoughts when Cillian again (!) pushed aside some blades of a shutter to peep out into the dark, believing to have seen something that just wasn't there.

It was the typical ordeal they now went through each and every evening, him checking again and again whether or not they were really alone, before she finally got the permission to go to sleep. He would stay awake, undoubtedly, he never slept anyway, and now he used his nightly quality time to satisfy his neurotic spleen of paranoia.

"I'm sure we're not being followed.

"You don't know them."

His answer sounded more like that of a child's mind, stubborn and almost furiously sulky, he was after all a man who always needed to be right; he turned away from the window, facing her with a stern and hard look, his movements almost too quick for her to grasp, she twitched back from him, feeling angry at herself for always jumping at the slightest moves he made. Cillian eyed her for a moment or two, an expression flashing through his eyes she could barely determine; was he sorry for frightening her? Or did he still blame himself for exposing her to a danger like this?

Renesmee felt herself blush under his intense gaze, the protectiveness with which he always looked at her was sometimes too much for her to bear; she knew he cared for her, he was concerned for her safety, as if she actually was the most precious thing in his life, and he in return sworn to protect her with his life. It would have been a bad-faced lie to say that she wasn't moved by his protective behaviour towards her.

She then broke eye contact, casting her eyes down, trying to force her thoughts to re-enter reality; she cleared her throat several times before she found herself able to talk again, and when she spoke again, she spoke rather to keep him from staring out of the window again, making her even more nervous in the process, then out of honest curiosity.

"Why are you so afraid of them?"

"I'm not. But you should."

His quick and short response sent heavy shivers down her back that had nothing to do with the cold – though they could really turn up the heaters (she was bloody freezing in this no-star hotel!) – and she swallowed hard, trying to cast off that feeling of panic and fear that conquered her thinking when her thoughts sent her back on a trip down to memory lane; the devilish red eyes of the Coven haunted her. She pulled her knees up to her chest, her arms folded around her legs, and she very much looked like a child, building herself a safe cave out of her own legs and arms.

Cillian, who must have sensed the change in her, not to mention in her body language, calmed down immediately; his eyes softened and he relaxed a little, trying not to increase her fears with his own troublesome concerns. Renesmee responded to his sudden change of mood and relaxed in return, the initial feeling of panic slowly dissolving into the unexpected warmth his sheer presence seemed to create every time.

"I don't need to be afraid. Not when I'm with you."

Renesmee knew that it was true as soon as she had spoken those words, but only after she'd voiced her thoughts did she realise the significance of her statement; she felt herself blush, knowing that her revelation of trust could also easily reveal those other feeling of more than just friendly nature. However, she didn't need to look up to know that he had unmistakably sensed the subconscious tone in her words; he might even had blushed, if he had been able to – but he was clearly moved by the trust and faith she put in him.

"So will you tell me now what happened to Jocelynne?", she had cleared her throat several times, before she'd been able to speak again, and at first she'd only addressed him again to dissolve this strange, but strangely not uncomfortable, tension between them; but Cillian already sighed with impatience again. This had become almost a ritual to them both in the last few days since their encounter with the Coven: she would ask for his dead companion, and he would avoid answering her questions.

Renesmee looked up again, eyeing him with curiosity and determination, waiting for an answer she should know by now she would never receive. Cillian closed his eyes and sighed once more, his forehead frowned – why wouldn't she just leave that topic alone? He was clearly uncomfortable with her continuously asking that question, it was more than obvious that he didn't want to tell her. But why? What's with all the mysteries? What was it he so desperately wanted to hide from her?

"Why is that so important to you?", he'd opened his eyes again, and there was a slight tone of annoyance at the edge of his voice when he'd spoken those words; his eyes flashed in a mysterious light and she would've bet her own life and all her Shakespearian plays on it that it had been an expression of fear which had rushed through his eyes. But what was there to be afraid of? Why was he so afraid to reveal this aspect of his past? Could he maybe fear her reaction to whatever dark secret he'd held back from her? But why would he care of her feelings changed? He could never feel for her as...as _she_ did for him, could he? This idea _did_ scare her after all.

"Well, you're _friends_ were obviously thinking I would share the same fate, so it should be at least allowed to ask, right?", her voice was dripping with sarcasm as she used her fingers to sketch quotation marks around the term _friends –_ yes, a dry sense of humour had always been her best weapon to get what she wanted, and to conceal whatever she didn't want other people to see.

His reaction to her hard words was immediate; his eyes shut tight, and his face grimaced as a shadow of agonising pain flashed over his features; for a moment, his palms covered his face, as if he was to cry.

"It won't happen again.", his words hadn't been more than a whisper, spoken ever so absent-mindedly, hardly aware, probably, that he'd said them out loud, but she'd heard them nonetheless.

"Sorry?" she enquired impatiently, the same expression of sarcasm still covering her facial features; he then looked up, the most intense expression of determination and agonising regret written all over his face; and when he locked eyes with her, she secretly twitched back from that most sincere protectiveness that burned in his look, it made her shiver down to her very bones, rendering her helpless, unable to determine whether it comforted or scared her.

"Whatever happened to her, it won't happen to you. I promise. I won't allow it.", and with that he all of the sudden jumped up from his place at the window and stormed outside – quite conveniently through the window, typical Bloodsuckers! – and left her alone in the motel room, with nothing but her own sulking thoughts as comforting companions. She then looked around helplessly and found herself facing her own image in the mirror, staring back at her with quite the same expression of exhaustion and anger over her own incapabilities.

"Brilliant, that went extremely well again, didn't it?"

* * *

Renesmee was sitting, half lying on the bed, her eyes closed as she sighed heavily; and after another moment, and another deep sigh she opened her eyes, staring at the grey, old ceiling again, wondering whether the construction might crash down on her head while she'd be asleep. She sighed again, letting her eyes wander on before they finally fell onto the shape of Cillian, his broad back turned towards her. She wondered whether he would realise if the ceiling actually crashed down on them; probably he would even notice it – the tons of stone and ash shattering next to him, and him still captured in his little, sulky, conspirative thoughts.

After several days of moving around, moving from motel to motel, fleeing from a threat that probably, so it appeared, only existed in his head; that paranoid delusion of him that they were being followed by his old friends – was he ever going to abandon it? There hadn't so much as been a whisper of them; when was he going to realise that this danger only existed in his imagination? Not that she was complaining, far from it; who wouldn't like being dragged around like a puppet, forced to spend the time in motels where even the cockroaches fled from the dirt, and the only person to waste time with was frankly said even less chatty than a stone? Seriously, who would complain about such fun?

"What happened to Jocelynne?"

To be perfectly honest, painful, death-bordering boredom had been the sole reason for her to ask this rather tedious question, only to revive an endless discussion, and she had asked without any hope to get an answer. He had turned down her plea for answers for what felt like the millionth time, what reason was there to hope that this time would be any different? She had her eyes closed at this point, smiling at herself, wondering whether a half-Vampire could possibly die because of boredom; and so she didn't sense the change in him. His head ever so slightly turned towards her at the sound of her question and he mustered her with cryptic look, an expression of hesitation and scepticism, suspicion narrowing his eyes.

"Do you really want to know?"

Her eyes literally popped open at the sound of his words; did she really hear what she thought she just heard? She sat up straight and looked over to him, slowly she locked eyes with and swallowed hard at the look he just gave her. There was an almost desperate darkness fogging his previously golden, warm eyes; he yearned to share this darkest of all his secrets with her, he yearned to trust her, and the fear in his eyes shocked her. Was he afraid that she would run from him, screaming? But she would never do that – right?

"Yes.", her response was hardly more than a whisper; anticipation, excitement, and fear tightening her throat; she stared into his eyes, hoping that he would find in her look whatever reassurance he needed to confide in her with whatever secret he'd held back from her. She wanted to assure him that she was ready for the truth – but was she really ready? She'd been hoping to receive an answer from him to her question for so long that now, now that the moment had finally arrived, she was consumed by fear that she wouldn't be able to bear whatever he had tried to hide from her. But now it was too late for last-minute regrets anyway.

"The truth is, I was devoted to the woman who created me. I loved her with everything I had, until I had nothing left to give.", at this point he uttered a sort of desperate laugh that made the thin hairs in her neck stand up in shock and fear; this dark laugh opened the doors to a side of him she wasn't sure she wanted to meet again. The Vampire in him, usually so deeply buried, slowly, frantically shimmered through, like myriads of shadows crossing his once so angelic face, grimacing the beauty into a distorted version of beauteousness, a terrible, terrifying, painful form of beauty, too perfect, too fair to ease your senses with the usual effect beauty had on one's mind. It made her shudder in waves of pleasure and pain, but she never dared to look away, not even for one moment.

"Our love was a disease of pleasure and pain. The less she offered me the more I craved for it. I did things to please her and the monster she was I would never have dared to dream of – I was not myself, I became her creature, in every way.", Cillian went on with his tale, and now he was not laughing any more; the smile on his lips frozen in a momentum of pain, as his eyes focused on a point past her eyesight, an imagery of his own, long lost past.

"But I loved her and did not care about the evils she did to me; I received the pain and despair she gave me with a loving hand and grateful smile.", as he said those words, a sad and regretful smile did decorate his perfect lips; and there was a beauty in his sadness that simply pained her and yet it seemed a pain tainted with a bitter sweetness; she could hardly understand those deeply destructive nuances of love, had she not always bathed in the light of this happy, warm love of her family? She felt her heart tear apart at the truth that love hurts, that love could kill.

"What happened?", she was surprised by how hoarse and broken her own voice sounded, she hardly recognised it. She felt her throat tighten, the pain, oh so visible in his whole posture, was felt as if it was her own; she was afraid of whatever new terrors he would reveal to her about his past. To hear of the pain alone that his love to this woman had caused him seemed almost unbearable to her; how painful, how maddening it must have been to be trapped in a cage of your own love, your lover inflicting wound after wound and yet you smiled at each lethal stroke, never even attempting to defend yourself.

"We encountered her old friends, the Coven. I remember quite distinctively the jealousy in their eyes when they noticed the intimate adoration with which we looked at each other.", at this, a genuine smile appeared on his face, but it was burdened with bitterness as he went on, "Happiness was something they could not bear, for it only made them aware of their own lack of happiness – pleasures, yes, pleasures they knew, but happiness was a completely different matter."

An almost wild grin crossed his lips and his eyes seemed to narrow to slits as he focused on memories of long past centuries; then suddenly the grin disappeared as quickly as it had come, pain flashed through his features when he threw a short look back at her. Though she wasn't quite sure that he'd been really looking at her, she had nonetheless seen the bitterness and pain in his eyes.

"They mocked me, teased me with the truth I was never supposed to know: That I had been nothing but a bet to Jocelynne, to all of them.", at this point he made a pause, she could see that he swallowed hard, gripped so hard by his own tale, the pain of betrayal burning in his eyes, and she stared at his back, shocked, "It had been a game she and Aaron, her sire, had played for decades. Throw a coin, and the coincidental sense of fate chooses its next victim. In this fateful night _I_ was that victim."

Renesmee, when he paused again to regain his composure, stared at his usually so steady and calm shape, now shaken with old shadows of his past, and she could not but feel for him; how terrible this revelation must have been for him, to know that the only person he'd ever loved had betrayed him like that, ended his life for nothing but a night's amusement. She shuddered at this harsh cold-heartedness.

"Of course, she was supposed to kill me, maybe even to share me with her Coven, but she took pity on me, and chose to turn me. She chose me to become her companion. She had become weary of Aaron and his games, tired of all the atrocities that had been pleasures and amusements only to this Coven of abominations – maybe she even thought, by granting me the gift of eternity, she could make amends for all the wrongs she had done in her time.", his voice, surprisingly as it was, sounded much warmer, much softer now, a sad smile lingering on his lips. It seemed as if he for whatever reasons understood her motifs, as if he'd actually forgiven that woman for what she'd done to him. Renesmee couldn't say whether she would have had the heart to forgive.

"Whatever her reasons were, _they_ didn't matter to me; she had taken away my life for a night's amusement. It had meant nothing to her. It was the only thing that mattered to me.", now, his eyes darkened mercilessly again, but somehow she felt that the anger and hatred in those deep, red orbs weren't for his sire, but for himself and for whatever he'd done; she felt as he himself was his harshest judge.

"I was furious, enraged to find out that she had gambled away my life, condemned me to an Undead's existence because of nothing but a bet. All those years she had made me believe my creation was born out of love, now I found out that it had been nothing but cold-hearted indifference, a little amusement to pass her time, nothing more.", after those words, there was nothing but silence, a deep, eardrum-shredding silence, only disrupted by her wildly beating heart; Cillian was only sitting there, staring into the darkness and she hardly dared to urge him on, but she did, she had to know.

"What happened then?", she noticed that her voice shook slightly, and she doubted for no second that he noticed it, too, but, whether he was just too caught up in his own story to do it, or trying to be nice and polite, he did not comment on the shakiness of her voice. Renesmee was afraid of the words to come, and she felt herself shudder when he slowly looked up. His eyes fixed so strongly upon her, burning her with that gaze of pain and desperation and self-hatred. She swallowed hard, she could not breathe.

"I killed her."

His voice failed him at that point, nothing was left but a raw, shaky whisper, his eyes torn wide open and he didn't seem to know that she was still there; he turned around again, breathing heavily as he relived all that had happened oh so very long ago. Renesmee only sat there, shivering in the coolness of her own sweat of fear and the dark thoughts and images his words had unleashed inside her. Cillian spoke so fast now that she could hardly follow his words, he nearly tumbled over his own tale.

"I didn't know what I was doing, I was just so furious, not aware of my strength – and she didn't do anything to stop me. She didn't fight me off. It was as if she _wanted_ me to do it, her eyes begging me to end her life; guilt for what she had done to me had consumed her completely, and she craved for me to pass judgement on her. In the end, I gave her what she'd longed for: peace, in death."

He paused and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself and his wild thoughts as he took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, hi voice sounded much calmer, yet there was also a bitter note in it, a melancholic melody, a note a of deep regrets that resembled his broken shape in the moonlight.

"After what I had done, after I had realised what I had done, I drowned in desperation, it drove me insane. I had killed the only person I had truly loved, the only person I had dared to trust; I could not live with what I had done, yet I could not die either.", he suppressed a wild, desperate laughter at this point, the conundrum of his conscience re-enacted in his mind's eye.

"The Coven, again, took pleasure in tormenting me, mocking me with what I had done. They laughed at me when they told me to go to Italy, to the Volturi.", he paused at this precise moment, and chose it to meet her eyes in the darkness of the room, and she could hardly bear the look in his eyes, it killed her, as his shame and regrets mush have killed him, "And I went there, I asked them, _begged_ them for death but my wish was not granted. So I had been forced to live on, and dwell and despair in the darkness of my own guilt, self-hatred and shameful regrets."

* * *

After he had finished his tale, after he had said it all, then, there was nothing but silence. Cillian was still in the darkness, staring into the blackness of nightly shadows, thinking, allowing the demons of his past to wash over him, silently tormenting his every though and every memory. Renesmee stared at his back, and she was shaking, tears burning in her eyes as she fought to suppress the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her. She knew crying was not going to change a thing; and yet she felt her heart ache at the pain and the need to unleash those tears, feeling that at least one person in this world should weep over the tale of this tragic couple; and so she shed all the tears Cillian was unable to cry.

She slowly got up and walked round the bed, walking towards him, and as she stepped behind him, her hand came up and place itself in a soft and comforting touch on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

Under her touch she could feel that his ice-cold figure was shaking, before, all of the sudden, he vanished. With movements and reflexes of inhuman range he had escaped from her touch, warmth between people being so unknown to him, and retreated to the other end of the room. He was unable stand her kindness, her compassion for him; after everything he'd told her, she should hate him, fear him, and yet the thought of seeing her frightened of him pained him more than he liked to admit.

As he, now from a safe distance, looked up, she felt herself starting to shiver again. Pity and sadness hadn't been the only feelings his tale had awakened in her, after all; she felt a renewed fear whispering in the back of her head, leading her backwards as he slowly approached her. He was a Vampire after all, and his anger could kill – was she cursed to be a victim of his rage, too? Was she condemned to share Jocelynne's fate? Then, suddenly he rushed towards her, and when there was no more space to back away, her back hit the wall; she could hardly surprise the urge to flinch, he must have heard her whimper.

"I'm sorry for you.", her voice was hardly more than a whisper and was barely aware of the tears she shed afresh for him and his tragedy, and possibly for her unknown fate, too. Cillian looked down into her warm, brown eyes, his smile heavy with sadness as his hand came up and his fingers unbelievably gently wiped away the salty tears. When he chose to speak, he swallowed hard before, his voice dripping with apologetic atmosphere.

"I should never have taken you with me, Renesmee. I am sorry."

Renesmee's eyes never wavered away from his face, and in that moment she felt his regret, his pain, his fear, felt it as though her own heart had been broken and sent to a long, nightmarish sleep of death. It that a moment, he was not a Vampire to her, not Immortal, not high above her, he was just Cillian then, a broken figure at which fate used to laugh. Her fear ceased, she could not but feel for him, and in her heart blossomed the urge to protect him.

While she never broke eye contact, she then slowly raised her hand and softly touched his cheek, letting him, letting him feel that she was glad to be with him, and for a moment's time he gave into her touch. Then suddenly he grabbed her wrist, but she did not flinch from his touch this time; she held his intense gaze, and as he lowered his head and pressed a gentle, but passionate kiss to her palm, she felt her eyelids flutter shut at the touch. When she heard him utter those last words, she shivered at the passionate fervour of them, and she believed them beyond any doubt.

"Nothing will ever hurt you, Renesmee, I swear. I won't allow it. I would never hurt you."


	6. Chapter 6

So, yeah I know, it's been more than a while. Don't. Hate. Me. I actually have a stressy university-life that I have to attend to from time to time.

I actually wanted to post chapter six quite a while ago, however, as I kept on writing and writing I thought to split it up into 2 chapters. Chp 7 is already half-written by now, thank the Gods!

So, have fun reading, and as always **REVIEW** and **COMMENT**!

* * *

**6. Hungry Curiosity – Part I**

The mountain lion feasted on the recently slain rabbit with a wild hunger, his strong jaws tearing bit after bit of flesh out of the little corpse, the sound of breaking bones could be heard, crushed under the sharp teeth of its killer. The animal was a rather beautified beast, his fur of elegant sandy colour, letting it appear as a ferocious beauty, a proper predator, without any natural enemies. On this fair, and slightly cool Sunday morning, however, it would be taught a lesson that even a predator like itself was not yet entirely on top of the food chain.

The two of them approached it slowly, they moved gracelessly through the grass, almost without any sound as they disappeared and reappeared between the trees, their eyes mercilessly fixed upon their prey. But they were not after the dead rabbit at this morning, their hunger lusted for a far more ferocious taste. The head of the mountain lion suddenly shot up, as if it had heard something; its eyes scanned its surroundings, but the trees were too thick to show any sign of a danger approaching, and the smell and taste of blood and meat in its mouth and nose was far too sweet to let its senses be alarmed by any other, far more dangerous smell. And so, it brought its attention back to its feast.

Renesmee was breathing hard as she'd hid herself behind a tree just in the right moment before the animal's eyes could have possibly caught sight of her; she dared to throw a look over to Cillian who, just a few feet away from her, hid behind a tree as well. In contrast to her, he did he not seem out of breath, of course not; their escape from being noticed just in the neck of the time did not seem to bother him at all. His eyes were fixed upon another tree's bark, but he did not really seem to see it; she then realised, he was listening, waiting for the proper moment to come, for the opportune moment to leap for his prey.

She turned her eyes away from him again, reminding herself that there was still a task ahead of them, there was still much to be done before breakfast was served. Just as he had done it, she took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself and to clear her mind from all those little, busying thoughts that usually crowded her head. She closed her eyes as she focused her mind on what was to come; she concentrated on her surroundings, her senses automatically sharpened, she could smell the overwhelming odour of the sweet blood so delicately presented, she could hear the lively beat of the beast's heart, as it pumped the dark, red blood through its whole body.

Then it all happened very quickly; she could feel the sudden swish of air beside her as Cillian leapt for his prey; there was a sound of growling, and she could not tell whether it belonged to the beast or to the man, or maybe, here in the wilderness, it was always one and the same. The sounds changed now, claws ripped at flesh and bone as two ferocious beasts fought against each other, one deadlier then the other. And then, the thundering noise of growling again, but it sounded thinner this time, more desperate, much more of a wounded animal not yet ready to die, not yet smart enough to see that no matter how long it would fight, its death was, at this point, inevitable, it was only a matter of time.

Renesmee, then, opened her eyes again, and she took another breath when she came out of her hiding place behind the tree to be confronted with the image of a seemingly yet undecided fight. Cillian stood a few feet away from the mountain lion; the beast growled at its grinning attacker, and she could see now that it had suffered several wounds already. As she stepped into its field of vision, and after the first moment of confusion had vanished, the aggressive growling that came out of the lion's throat was now also granted to her; the beast's eyes switching from her back to her companion and then back to her again. There was an expression in its eyes that deeply moved her, she was faced with an animal with a fighting spirit, one that knew death was approaching, but there was defiance still in there, it would die fighting.

She felt her muscles tense as she lowered herself into an offensive position, every part of her body prepared for the fight to come, and now the majestic mountain lion turned its full attention towards her. Her breathing went faster and faster, pumping her own blood through her body, sharpening her senses, making her hear and feel the desperately beating heart of a dying and yet fighting predator. The beast in front of her was shaking out of pain and fear and desperate will to survive, her body was shaking by the shivers of adrenaline and bloody anticipation as the beast inside her awakened, growling deep from her throat, revealing herself to her enemy.

There was no signal to be heard or seen that unleashed the fight, they just leapt at each other as the beasts they both were; claws, clutching, ripping, tearing; teeth, cutting, crushing, biting. She could feel the intense gaze of her companion burn into her back as she took the mountain lion into her arms' deadly embrace; it still fought in her arms, its legs kicking out, its paws lashing out but never quite harming her. It was then that she finally took what was hers, and she sank her teeth into the warm, furry flesh.

When she first tasted the heat of the blood on her tongue, the desperation of the animal in her arms increased, it began to understand what was going to happen, it sensed that its death was near, but no matter how hard it fought, it wouldn't be able to escape into the wood's safety this time. She felt its helpless struggle and, the haunting expression in its wild eyes still terrifyingly alive in her mind, with the mercy of a gentle predator she broke its neck with one single, swift movement. For one long, seemingly infinite moment, it was completely still in her arms, with an odour of a bloody peace in the air, a peace only death could conjure.

She then released the dead body from her grip and with a sound, almost too soft for a beats such as this, it crashed down onto the earth. As she closed her eyes, trying to calm her hard breathing, her tongue darted out to lick the blood she'd spilled. She was torn out of her thoughts when she felt a sudden rush of air beside her, and as she looked down, she saw Cillian leaning over the beast, his teeth already sinking into its flesh, craving for that sweet blood, seeking to satisfy the hunger that burned in his throat. She slowly sank down next to him to take her own share of their bait.

Over their breakfast their eyes locked now and then, there was no fear, no greed in the way they looked at each other, but curiosity, the undying drive to learn from each other. It had been the first time they had hunted together, and they worked together as if there were one and the same person; it had almost been like a dance to them and as partners in this death's dance they had completed each other most perfectly.

During the hunt she had watched him, observing his every move, driven by the wish to learn from him; she had admired his elegant hunting choreography, how he had trusted his sharpened senses completely, his human mind entirely vanished as the Vampire inside him had taken over. She was fascinated by him, entranced by the sheer, overwhelming beauty of him as his body moved so most elegantly. She had felt her heart starting to beat faster, and, of course, she had disregarded it as a natural sign of her body preparing for the fight to come – but as she met his eyes over their prey's body she shivered, for she knew, that it had been actually him who had made her heart beat faster.

* * *

"So, what do you think?"

They had just returned from their breakfast, having completely drained the mountain lion, Cillian had saved a few pieces of meat for other meals to come. Ever so caring with her. Renesmee smiled triumphantly as she'd asked that question, turning her head towards him, locking eyes with him. He walked slowly next to her, giving a little snort at her childish, little outburst of triumph, or so it would seem.

"It's not bad.", he returned her warm smile with a cocky grin of his own, and she'd come to enjoy the way he always looked at her when he smiled like that; she felt shivers run down her back and she had to avert her eyes in order to cover the deep, red blush that probably already decorated her cheeks; Cillian, then, added, "Tasted a bit like a Creole girl I once met in Louisiana. Oh, these were the good, old days..."

Renesmee, completely overthrown by his sudden cruelness, was shocked deep down to the bone and for a moment she tumbled in her steps; her eyes widened in shock and for a moment she could not speak, nor did she have any idea how to respond to his cold, heartless remark, but then she slowly recovered. Cillian didn't seem to have noticed her little moment of weakness, or maybe he just didn't want to hurt her by showing it.

"But isn't that better? No one needs to die, and all are happy."

"Oh, Little Bird, correct if I'm wrong, but did you see the _Lion King_ prancing away after our little feast?", he had been roaring with laughter after her little, hopeful words, and only after his laughing attack had slightly ebbed away had he been able to speak again, countering her naïve hope with a rhetorical question of his own. Upon his mocking words she turned towards him again, locking eyes with him, and she could see the truth reflected in his eyes; it left her thinking, and she swallowed hard, averting her eyes when she couldn't bear to see his intense gaze any more.

"Killing is Killing." he slowly went on, his tone light, as if he was talking about something as trivial as summer raining in Forks, but perhaps, killing really was that _trivial_ to him, "And that is the truth, the only truth you will ever need to survive in our world, Little Bird.", him using her pet name for her made heavy shivers run down her back, at this point she wasn't exactly sure whether these shivers were of a good or a bad nature; sometimes with him it became one and the same.

"I still believe my way is the better solution. Wouldn't you like to join me?", for a moment she was too afraid to meet his eyes as he said those words, which, even to her own ears, sounded so much more like a plea; she was afraid to see the utmost lack of humanity in his eyes, to be confronted with the what she feared most, that, in the end, there was only the Vampire left in him, and no man at all. Then, however, she finally did look up to him, locking eyes with him. He smiled patronisingly at her, taking his time looking her up and down, making her almost blush again as she cast her eyes down.

"Keep your way of killing, Little Bird, I shall keep mine."

* * *

Renesmee stood in the middle of a clearing, the trees around her so high that only she bathed in a fountain of light, whereas the rest of the woods drowned in the blackest of shadows. She knew at once that she was dreaming, though she could not name what exactly told her so; it was just a slight feeling of lightness, a sensation of being severed from the ties that bound her to the world – she felt as light as a bird's feather and she was floating along the path of her dreams, unbeknownst to where they would lead her. She would only ever follow; after all, what choice did she have? No one was the master of one's dreams; one was as free as one was trapped in them.

As the dream progressed its landscape started to change; a large, quickly moving shadow was cast above her – a dark cloud – and as her eyes followed its line of progression, they were caught by something at the other end of the clearing; in fact, whatever was there, had already been swallowed by the dark shadows, and no light seemed strong enough to illuminate the mystery of whatever was hiding in the woods' shade. She should have been terrified to know that she was not alone, but somehow no fright seem to take a hold of her; this was just a dream, after all, nothing and no one could hurt her.

As the shadow of the cloud enlarged the extremely bright light of the sun seemed significantly dimmed, and she was finally able to make out what really happened beyond the boundaries of shades and sunlight. To her shock – and shamefully, also to her great fascination – she saw a man with his back turned towards her, so she couldn't see his face, and a young woman held in his arms; it looked as if he was kissing her, or rather pressing his lips to her throat as the female sighed in a mixture of pleasure and pain. If Renesmee hadn't been half a Vampire herself she probably wouldn't have realised what she just witnessed.

A part of her thought about interfering and stopping it, helping the poor woman, and she really should stop it; but the other part of her, the part she so rarely allowed to resurface eagerly drank in the sight and the sounds and the smell of it. This was just a dream, after all, and who was to judge or condemn her for her dreams? There was another sound from the other end of the clearing, and again she could not entirely determine whether it had been born out of pleasure or out of pain.

She could see now how the woman started to fight against her captivator, but still all those joyful sounds, all those relief on the female's face; was it really pain she felt when the pleasure was so obviously spread all over her face? Why was it that in her dreams it was always all the same? It was then that the stranger suddenly looked up, and as their eyes locked, she felt her heart stop dead for a beat or two; for even across the whole clearing – across the path of all her dreams and thoughts – would she have recognised that face.

Cillian did not seem surprised to find her looking at him (of course, this was her dream after all, and even in reality, Cillian, as a Vampire, was not easily surprised anyway), in fact, he even appeared relieved, almost relaxed, as if he'd been expecting her. He pulled his teeth out of the young woman's trembling neck, lifting his head off his victim and, now that she'd become useless to him, leaving the female body to crash down to the ground. His eyes, shining red rubies, burned themselves into her very soul and she felt herself shiver at the sight of the red gold that rinsed down his chin; there were disgust and fascination and hunger inside of her, all battling each other.

Her first instinctive reaction was to run; the impulse to run away from this god forsaken clearing, to run away from the beautiful monster that stared at her with big, hungry eyes was almost unbearable, and yet she could not move. The heart within her chest beat so hard and so loud that she thought it must be drowning every other sound in its audible shadow. The hairs in her neck stood up in a movement of fear that soon enough claimed her skin; she was afraid of him, of what he could do – of what he could do to her. Yet she did not run.

It was not so much a decision she made; no, a decision would mean that she actually had control over her own senses, power enough to retreat into the safety of the mortal world; but she was powerless in the face of the beautified beast, her body seemed no longer hers to control, and so she could not make the decision to run any more. Fear rooted her to the spot, and fascination proved to the be the chain that held her there; awaiting this darkened angel of pain and of pleasure. She held her breath when he started to move towards her; his steps so deliberately, wonderfully slow, as if he wanted to make her _feel_ that he was creeping _closer_ to her.

It was just a dream, she kept on chanting to herself, repeating it over and over in her head, he could not hurt her here, he would _never_ hurt her. But the way he was looking at her as he came closer to her with every step, that awful, deep red blazing with a fire that consumed her, and she felt her very soul being burned alive – and she knew, she just knew that no waters in all the world could ever quench the thirst, could ever satisfy his hunger. She should have been afraid, she should have been disgusted; all these were rather logical reactions to the beast that soon would stand right in front of her. She, however, was fascinated, she was thrilled, intoxicated, in a need of something she could not name, yet.

Finally, then, did she turn away, in one single swift movement her back was turned towards him; chills were cascading down her back at the thrills of having her back turned towards the beautified beast, of leaving her completely unprotected. Did she turn away because she was disgusted by what he'd just down to that poor woman over there, or because she actually did not care, and did not want to see to not tricking her conscience into humanity mode again.

It was in the exact moment when she closed her eyes and took a deep breath that she finally felt his hands on her, his arms softly embracing her from behind, pressing against him, making her feel the coldness of his touch. She shivered in his embrace as his lips mouthed icy kisses on her neck, his teeth ever so lightly ghosting over her skin; it was a dark promise of the blood and things to come, of this tempting pleasure made of pain.

"Give yourself to me..." he whispered into her ear, cool air rushing over her skin, it left her shaking in breathlessness – and she would, and she did, she craved it with a desperation that had been unknown to her. In response the arms that embraced her held her even closer to him, pressing her so hard against his cold, hard body that she was sure, even after she'd woken up, she would find bruises covering her skin. But she found that she did not mind, it didn't matter, nothing mattered any more, nothing but the feeling of his razor sharp teeth gracing her skin, scratching the skin, sinking even deeper –

Renesmee awoke with a scream that penetrated through the darkness and echoed throughout the whole forest; she was still panting breathlessly when it slowly dawned upon her that it had been nothing but a dream, it hadn't been real, it had only been a dream, nothing more. There was a strangely nagging feeling of regret in the back of her head that she did not want to acknowledge yet.

"You alright?"

Cillian's question came out of the dark from somewhere nearby and though she had no idea where he was exactly since she couldn't see anything in this pitch black thickness one called night, she noticed fool well this tone of concern that coloured his voice; ever so protective of her. His question left her thinking; while her heavy breathing gradually started to slow down and her eyes stared into the darkness, the blurry shapes of her dream still moving frantically in front of her eyes, she wondered: was she alright? Clearly, having just fantasised about being bitten by a Vampire who'd just moments ago, in her dream, killed a woman, was definitely not a thumbs up for her sanity.

But did that really mean that something was wrong with her? The saner, more logical, clearly more survival-driven part of herself mouthed a _Yes!_ into her ear, rolling with her eyes and snorting in contempt at the other part of herself who looked at her with big, dreamy eyes while shaking her head and – _shut up!_ – really just biting her bottom lip like an all-hot-and-bothered schoolgirl. Renesmee growled annoyed by her own subconscious, letting her head fall forward into her hands, giving her a few moments to process what had happened in her dream, and what she was – even now – daring to think, daring to _feel_.

That she had wanted it, craved for it, for the pain, for the pleasure of it – and that she still wanted it.

This was wrong, this was the only logical response, this was what her brain, her common sense told her; she had grown up among Vampires, she had lived with them, she knew the truth behind the stories, she knew that there was absolutely nothing romantic about an Immortal's bite, nothing sensual, it wasn't a bloody kiss, it was a death sentence. And yet she couldn't help the way she felt, those images stuck inside her head, a pleasure made of pain, and a pain made of pleasure.

She felt her palms go sweaty, her skin prickling, curiosity licking through her whole body in response to the question that kept popping up in her mind: what would it really be like? What would it really feel like? The feel of lips pulled back, replaced by sharp teeth scratching skin, penetrating the surface – would it be the pain beyond measure, the cold death creeping into her very veins? Or would there be something else, more than just the pain? And would she be tempted to risk everything just to receive an answer to that question?

Renesmee slowly lifted her head, looking straight into the darkness, all fear, all signs of exhaustion gone, her breathing calm and steady now as she eased back into her sleeping bag, curling up into a tight ball as if she was going back to sleep again. However, her brown eyes were wide open, staring out into the night, and there was a thought, just a single thought blazing inside those brown orbs. She had made her choice.

"Yes, I'm fine."


End file.
